Break Me Down
by thefactionlessauthor
Summary: (Revised from original story) "And are you afraid of me?" He asks me this so quietly, I almost don't hear him. But his lips are at my ear; his voice shakes, and I can tell he's just as nervous as me now. We both anticipate my answer. [Rated M for later scenes / language]
1. New

**A/N: This story is heavily edited from the original. So many people enjoyed the story the first time around, but after rereading I knew revisions needed to be remade to make it better than before. This story was my first Divergent fanfiction, and as most of you knew before there are no factions mentioned, however, I will be keeping many of the same elements from Divergent and from the original posting.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing, Veronica Roth owns the Divergent Trilogy.**

 **CHAPTER 1 – NEW**  
 _Tris Prior's POV_

September 3rd. It's the first day.

My parents have sent my brother and I to a boarding school in Chicago. We didn't do anything wrong, they just assume the education provided is a lot better. I can't complain much either, it was a hard decision for my parents, knowing we would be away from home for nine months, but I'm not going alone at least.

Being away from home is a new experience for me, and for Caleb. Caleb's nose is shoved into his books; he has barely spoken to me since we got on the train this morning. I don't know how long it's been, but I know we've still got a while to go.

Caleb loves reading, my parents joke that he will marry a book someday. He has already finished a book from this morning, now he's on a collection of the advancement in technology. I don't have much interest in the same things he does. I guess that's what makes us difference, it balances us out because he knows what he wants to do someday. I don't, not yet.

He's just recently turned eighteen, so he will move on to college next year. Unlike me, at seventeen, I will still have one more year to think about my career choice. Although I think he's always known, regardless.

I still feel like I look about fourteen. I'm short, maybe about a foot shorter than Caleb.

I have no idea what to expect at our new school. _Will people like me here?_ Or will it just be another year that I remain silent while I watch everyone around me having fun and making friends. I've never really been likable.

My eyes are trained on the scenery smearing past us. I don't realize I'm biting my nails until Caleb reaches across our seats and pulls my hand away, "Beatrice, you're not gonna have any nails left if you keep that up."

"Sorry," I mumble, dropping them on to my lap, "you're not nervous?" I ask him. He shakes his head and shrugs at me. I sigh, it can't just be me.

"Mom and dad have everything set up. Don't worry." I'm glad he can be so calm about all of this; I don't think I'll ever understand how he does it. He's just brave, I guess. Or fearless.

I return my gaze to the window and curl up on the seat. It's going to be a long ride, Chicago is pretty far from New York. _Almost 22 hours by train_ , Caleb's voice from last night rings in my head. I sigh.

We didn't always live in New York; my father's job had us on the move quite a lot a few years ago. Caleb and I are just going back to Chicago, we had always lived there up until we were fourteen. So in a way, it's good be going back home.

"I wonder if anything's changed," I say. Caleb glances up from his book again.

"I don't know," he finally says, "maybe."

"I know it's only been a couple years, but things always change." He nods, I can see it from the corner of my eye.

"We'll be on the other side of Chicago, you know."

"I know." I reply, "but that doesn't mean we can't always go back to see, sometime." We fall silent again; I can hear the wheels scraping against the tracks, with the rumble of the train just beneath us. Some of my nerves disappear as I think of how much I've missed home; maybe I'm not so nervous anymore.

 **xXxXx**

"Boys dormitories are on the bottom floor, and girls dormitories are upstairs. No boys in a girl's dormitory, no girl in a boy's dormitory. Siblings are no exception. Precautionary reasons. Your roommates will help you around the place, so hopefully you will get a feel for the campus. My name is Jeanine Matthews, but you will refer to me as Ms. Matthews. I am the dean of this school, if there are any problems, you can come and see me. I am usually always here, unless away on a conference." She smiles, but I can tell we're just another pair of new students to her. Caleb thanks her, while I remain silent, and we head to our rooms.

I say goodnight to him, because I don't believe I'll be coming back down to see him tonight. I'm too tired as it is; I just want to take a shower and get into bed. There aren't a lot of stairs, thankfully. My room key says I will be looking for room 213. It's not hard to locate, it's one of the first few rooms after the second turn in the hall. I stick the key into the lock and twist. The room is dark when I open the door, so my roommate must be out.

This is going to be a little more awkward; I was actually hoping she would be here so we could get our greetings out of the way. Now I'll have to stay up, because I don't want to fall asleep if I don't know her.

It was almost eight o'clock when we got here. It is dark outside, and from the windows in my room I can see into the courtyard outside. There are students all over the campus, playing games, talking, sitting. Maybe she's just out there.

The courtyard is lit up, so I don't bother turning the lights on.

There are two beds; one has sheets already on it and the other is barren. I get to work and make my bed, filling the draws underneath it with my clothes so that I can put my suitcase out of the way. It's just a bedroom, so I'll have no choice but to ask her where the bathrooms are when she gets in.

I suspect about an hour has passed by now, and I am still alone. I suddenly wonder if Caleb's roommate has gotten in yet. If so, I hope they're getting along. Being alone gives me time to think, and time to think makes me wonder who she could be.

What if she's not happy to see me? Or we don't get along? Can I request a new room, or do I have to endure tense silence for the rest of the year?

I feel a walk would help me, so I get up and grab my room key, shoving it into my pocket. There are some people lingering out in the main hallway when I get downstairs. I think about going into the courtyard, but I don't know anybody yet.

I feel a nudge on my shoulder, and turn around to see a girl about a few inches shorter than me, "Hey, you must be Prior." I nod.

"How do you know my name?"

"The lost look on your face was a dead giveaway," she smiles, "I'm your roommate, Christina. I thought about going upstairs to greet you, but I figured you might want your space for a while. So I thought I'd wait and see if you'd come down."

"So, what are all these people doing out here?" I ask, motioning towards the courtyard.

"Lights stay on until curfew. And nobody really cares that we hang out outside when it's nice. It's just them giving us some leeway. But even around curfew, nobody actually goes to sleep," she smirks, "some of us know our way out without getting caught. Or we just hang out in someone's room."

"Isn't that like...not allowed?" I say. Christina laughs, shaking her head.

"Of course it's not. We'll corrupt you," she grins, "you gotta have a little fun; and what's fun without some risks? Come on, I'll introduce you to some of my friends." She leads me out into the courtyard, towards a group of people by one of the large trees. They're laughing about something when Christina and I stop in front of them. "Hey guys, meet our new friend and my new roommate, Beatrice."

"Uh...just Tris," I say.

"Tris," Christina nods, "well, _Tris_ , this is my boyfriend, Will. And that, is his friend, Al. And that is Uriah."

"The one and only," Uriah's grin is infectious. He takes a bow.

"Nice to meet you, Tris," Will says, extending a hand towards me. I take his hand, hesitantly, and shake it twice.

"You too," I reply a little more confidently.

"She's just a little shy," Christina adds, "but we'll break her out of her shell, right guys?"

"Right!" The three grin.

I find myself a little more at ease with them as time passes. The stories I've heard, I wouldn't believe they were capable of if I were an outsider watching them interact. But I've gotten to know them, at least a little bit, as we've talked.

On the other side of the yard, the lights begin to shut off, "Curfew time, guys." Christina says, nudging my arm, "You know what that means," she says, glancing between me and them.

"Uh...what _does_ that mean?" I ask her.

"We're gonna go to the pit. Wanna come with?" Uriah asks me. I'm not sure if I want to; I just got here, and if I already get in trouble that's not gonna look good. But Christina said that they all have ways of getting out undetected. I'm sure this is something my parents—and Caleb, for that matter—would disagree with me doing.

I want to say no, but it's tempting to say yes.

"Okay," I eventually nod, "I'll go for a little."

"Yeah, see I knew you'd warm up to us sooner or later," Christina says, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

 **xXxXx**

When we get there, Christina drags me up to the roof of a building. I feel uneasy as we step towards the ledge, "it's not so bad, the wind isn't rough tonight," Will comments, standing on the ledge. "Should we let her go first?"

"First for what?" I ask.

"Jumping," Al answers, resting on the ledge, "you gotta jump to get into the pit this way." I glance over the side, my stomach tightening as I see how far down it is. It's a giant black hole in the middle of the pavement below.

"You want me to jump? All the way down there?" I cry, "This is what you guys do for fun? Isn't this like movie stuff?" Now I really begin to wonder what I've gotten myself into. Christina laughs.

"It's not that bad," Christina reassures me, "we've done this before. There's a net at the bottom, it'll catch you."

"Unless I hit the pavement," I retort. They laugh, shaking their heads. I feel determined now, to prove them wrong about me. I think about it; they welcomed me so easily, if they wanted to hurt me wouldn't they have done it already? Plus, they don't _seem_ like the type to viciously trick people. "...Fine, I'll jump."

"You go, girl!" Christina cheers, clapping. "Don't think, just jump." I am able to balance myself on the ledge, staring down at the gaping hole I'm about to jump down into. If I hit the pavement, that's it. So I don't close my eyes.

I step off, and the air pulls me down at a rapid pace; I'm terrified, but too exhilarated to think straight. I don't think about the dangers anymore, I am down, below the opening when I come to a stop shortly after. The net bounces, throwing me back up into the air a few times before it stops.

There's nobody else in the room but me, and then suddenly a scream sounds from above and Christina lands in a heap beside me. Her chin hits my shoulder, and she winces but laughs it off.

"Damn, I thought you had gotten out of this thing already," she says, rolling herself off to the edge. She climbs down from the net and helps me get my feet on the ground. We wait for Al and Will to get down, and then they lead me through a large corridor that heads to a stairwell.

The noise from the end gets louder as we get closer, and when we turn we enter an even larger room below. There's a glass roof, held up by pillars, at the top of the cavern's opening. I can see the stars because of how high up we are but then Christina tugs on my arm and we go down to where the other people are.

"Hey, Christina," a boy calls out, motioning her over. He's quite intimidating looking, with two piercings just above his right eyebrow. And his ears. The tattoo on his neck also stands out to me, but it looks like tires have run over him.

"Eric, this is my friend Tris," Christina shouts over the noise, "she's new."

"I can tell," he says, looking me over. I'm not sure if I should feel disgusted or suspicious of his staring. He looks at me like a piece of meat, something to chew up and spit out. Then he snorts, "She's clean."

"Clean?" I ask Will.

"It means you don't have any tattoos, or piercings." Will says. I look over the three that brought me here and only see a sliver of a tattoo on Christina's arm. I see no piercings or tattoos on the other two.

"You thinking of changing that?" Eric asks; it's directed at me. I shake my head.

"I wasn't," I answer. What would my tattoo even look like? Piercings didn't seem that flattering to me either.

"Okay," he shrugs after a moment. I release a breath I didn't know I had been holding in. "So, why did you think it was a good idea to bring her to the pit?"

"She looked like she needed some fun," Christina says, "she's new; she was probably gonna come here eventually. Sooner just seemed better." There's a girl that walks up beside Eric; she has long, black hair and a thin face. She eyes me, almost the exact same way Eric had. I know I stand out, I look nothing like any of them. My clothes aren't as dark, I don't even wear make-up.

"Who's she?" I am feeling a little tired of the scrutinizing stares.

"Who are you?" I retort, less threatening than I mean to, but still with some conviction. The others seemed stunned, while the girl just smirks.

"Tori," she answers, "...didn't look like you had any guts. Guess I was wrong."

"You're not the first person to underestimate me," I say. Christina laughs beside me, and Eric suppresses a grin. Will and Al don't even bother hiding theirs'.

"Watch yourself," Tori says, stalking past me. She bumps into my shoulder, and mutters, "welcome to the pit." And then she's gone. Christina is no longer laughing, she's applauding me again.

"Welcome to the pit, indeed." She says, "I take it, Tori will tolerate you. She's kind of a hard person to impress."

"Well, _Stiff_ ," Eric smirks, taking a step towards me, "Maybe you do belong here. You'll just need to do something so nobody can cross you anymore. Enjoy the fun. See you guys later." He goes in the same direction as Tori, and Christina leads me to one of the tables.

"Want something to drink?" She asks, "pick your poison." By poison, I'm assuming none of this is non-alcoholic. I've never drank before – I'm not even sure that I want to now. I shake my head at her and she shrugs, "fine. More for me." She grins. She doesn't judge me on it either, she just doesn't care.

Maybe I could fit in here.

 **xXxXx**

I'm not even sure how, but Will had gotten us out through a back doorway. He was supporting Christina the whole way back; _is she always like this?_ I don't think I am bothered by it, but it's new to me. On the rest of the way, back to our dorm, Will leaves her with me. I'm not exactly the strongest person, so supporting her is a struggle but I manage.

She collapses onto her bed, and I get into mine. I'm glad tomorrow is a Saturday, so she can recover and later tell me the schedules I will have to follow.

 **xXxXx**

My first night wasn't bad. I imagined a much bumpier beginning, but Christina made things easier. I still am not too sure how well I'll get along with Eric, or Tori, but they're older so I won't be crossing their paths as much. Hopefully.

Christina stirs awake, barely lifting her head off her pillow. She whimpers, and clutches at her forehead. I can only imagine the pain she's in, "T-tris... damn..." I know I should have stopped her, or at the very least, made her wait a little while in between drinks. But I suspect this isn't her first time being hungover.

"I'm awake," I say quietly.

"Don't let this..." she gags a little, "don't let this version of me make you think bad of me."

"It doesn't," I reassure her, "just uh...just try to get some more sleep."

"I think – I think there are rocks in my head, rolling around," she says. I can't help but laugh a little; I know she's in pain, but she's entertaining, "I need water."

"We could go down and get breakfast," I offer, "though, I'm not too sure you really wanna walk right now."

"If I do, I think I'll fall over."

"Should I go down, and bring you back a bottle?"

"Please," she begs, turning to lay on her stomach. I stand up and head towards the closet to get dressed. I don't drag it out, I hurry up so I don't keep her waiting. I'm a little lost at first, but I see a sign across the courtyard that says 'CAFETERIA' so I head that way.

There's a machine right inside the entryway, filled with water bottles. I open the door and reach inside to grab one. I don't even notice another person in the room until the door almost slams shut on my arm. I cry out, stunned, wrenching my arm away quickly.

There's a boy with a smug grin on his face, leaning against the machine, "so you're the new girl?" He asks. I don't answer him, I turn away to leave but his hand grips my arm tightly and pulls me back, "I asked you a question."

"Yeah?" I hiss, "well, you almost shut my arm in the door." I don't need to answer to him. He's a jerk – and I don't even know who he is.

"The new girl has some attitude, huh?" I feel another hand weave through my hair, and I turn to see a girl behind me.

"What's your name?"

"Why do you care?" I retort.

"Okay, you wanna be like that. I'm Peter," he says, "and that's Molly."

"Well, I'd say nice to meet you but I'd be lying." I yank my arm free after another struggle and pull my sleeve back up over my shoulder.

"Why are you in a rush, huh?"

"Beatrice!" _It's Caleb_. I internally cringe at the use of my full name. I turn my head to see him rush in to the cafeteria, he pulls me towards him and glares at the boy named Peter. "What are you doing to my sister?" I should be relieved, but I want to tell Caleb I could handle them on my own.

" _Beatrice...?_ Nice name," Molly sneers. _At least mine doesn't sound like it belongs to a dog_.

"Aw, you've got your big brother to protect you now," Peter scoffs, "later, _Beatrice_."

"What the hell happened?" Caleb asks, watching them leave. I shake my head.

"I don't even know who they are," I reply, "I guess they just like to bully new kids... I was down here getting some water for my roommate, Christina."

"Why couldn't she get it?" I don't really want to tell Caleb she's hungover – _saying she's ill wouldn't technically be lying..._

"She's not feeling well— _really_ not feeling well." And he believes me; It was sort of truthful. After a long moment, he leaves to go back on his way wherever he was headed once he's convinced I'll be alright on my own. I head back to my dorm room.

When I enter, Christina is sitting up, "feeling better?" I ask.

"Well at least the rocks stopped moving," is all she says. I hand her the water and she thanks me. She doesn't realize I almost lost my arm trying to get it for her.

"...Hey, what do you know about a boy named Peter, and the girl...Molly?" I ask. Christina looks up at me curiously. She swallows the large sip of water in her mouth.

"Why?"

"Uh, when I went to go get you water the boy—Peter tried to shut my arm in the door. Molly just kinda stood there and watched, but she was with him."

"Peter's an asshole," Christina replies, "he's a bully, and a coward. He never likes to be forgotten, or put in his place. He thinks he's better than everyone else. I want to say 'I can't believe he'd do something like that', but I actually can. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just wanted to know if I did something to get on his bad side..."

"You're the new girl—you and your brother are the new kids. You're practically what everyone's talking about around here right now. Peter's far from any of their minds, but beating up the new girl would bring him right back to the front." I'm not sure I like that at all. I never asked to be the center of attention—nor did I expect to make an enemy because I am. It's not like I tried to make this happen.

"I didn't ask to be," I sigh.

"No," she agrees, "but eventually you'll be just like everyone else here. The talk'll die down after a while. You probably shouldn't leave this room for the rest of the day...who knows where Peter's lurking around right now."

"That makes me feel better," I mutter sarcastically. Now I'm just supposed to stay confined to this room? I'm not gonna be a coward, not like him.

"Well, you can do what you want," Christina says, waving her hand, "I'm supposed to meet Will later, studying and such. I'll see you later." She grabs a pair of jeans and a shirt from the floor and heads down the hallway towards the showers.

I decide to head down to main offices, searching for the phone booth. I drop a quarter into the slot and listen to a woman reading off information about international calls before I punch in the home number.

It rings three times, then I hear a soothing, "Hello?"

"Mom," I breathe, a smile crossing my face, "I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Oh honey," my mother's smile is present, and she laughs to herself, "You miss us already?"

"Of course, mom," I sigh, rolling my eyes.

"How is everything so far?" She asks; I hear her call for my father and I imagine she is holding the phone between them so they both can hear.

"Everything is... _interesting_ ," I answer, "I've already made some really nice friends, and you know Caleb, he's studying as per usual. I haven't seen him much since we got here, he spends a lot of time in the library." I hear my father's laugh this time.

"That's definitely Caleb," he says, "I'm glad to hear that, honey. Do you like your classes?"

"I won't know until Monday," I say, "but they look right."

"Good, good," he says, "I'm sure Caleb is eager to start, too."

"Definitely," I reply with a grin, "Caleb misses you guys too."

"Tell him we miss him too," my mother says, "Your father and I have a council meeting tonight, you remember Marcus Eaton, don't you? They've appointed him head of the council. Your father just knew he would get it."

"Really?" I ask; I vaguely remember Marcus, "Dad knows everything. Just like Caleb," I joke. My mother laughs and I hear my father quickly follow.

"Marcus deserves that position," my father defends, "He has no family here, all he ever does is spend his nights at the office."

"Quite sad," my mother says softly, "but I agree, Marcus is very focused on his work. It would be an insult to overlook that."

"Well, we're gonna let you go, honey," My father says, "your mother and I have some things to go over before the meeting tonight. It was great hearing from you, maybe we'll hear from Caleb soon. You can always call us."

"Okay," I say, "I love you."

"We love you too," my father smiles, "tell Caleb we love him too."

"I will."

 **xXxXx**

I spot Christina out by the cafeteria, twisting a bottle of water around in her hands as she's talking to Will and Uriah. I make my way over to them, and shyly wave as Uriah smiles at me. He was very nice when I met him earlier, something tells me he's just a happy guy all the time, "Here comes the stiff," he jokes.

"Don't call me that," I reply. His smile is contagious, it actually makes me smile in return. He laughs, throwing his arm around my shoulder.

"My apologies, Tris." Uriah says, shaking me, "good thing you can take a little name calling and joking." I don't feel awkward, if anything I'm thankful for Uriah's personality overall. He actually makes you want to talk. He turns to Will and Christina, "hey, you guys going to the pit again tonight? Heard Eric's picking a fight."

"Of course he is," Christina replies with a shake of her head. She looks at me, "Eric picks new people to fight with each other...kind of like a monthly tradition with him."

"Yeah, if Tori wasn't there he'd make it a nightly thing," Uriah nods.

"Tori's not even there most of the time, how would she know? He could probably get away with it," Christina asks, "Four doesn't do anything about it either..."

"That's 'cause Four wants nothing to do with any of what Eric does," Will states, wrapping an arm around Christina's waist. She leans into him, and I suddenly feel a hollow pang in my chest at the sight of them. It makes me wonder how long they've been together.

"Four?" I blurt out. "Like the number?" They each look at me as I speak up, and I shrink back a little under Uriah's arm. I almost forgot he was still holding me.

"Yeah sort of. He hangs around Tori and Eric sometimes; he doesn't really have much of a choice, they keep order in the pit together. Kind of like leaders, except if Eric had his way he'd be a dictator." Uriah explains. It was my impression they saw Eric as a friend, but now...

"Tori just has the spot so she can get away with things," Christina adds.

"I mean, she's cool and all but she likes to order people around sometimes. Four's the only normal one sometimes. They hardly ever agree with him. Feel bad for him...there's always someone who's controlling him." Uriah says with an empathetic frown, "he's a cool guy, but he mostly keeps to himself when it comes to personal matters. We all just know him as Four, not sure why but it's just what we've called him for the last couple of years."

"Does he go to school here?" I ask.

"He used to," Uriah answers, "he's one of the older kids. They all left last year. Finished. He just turned nineteen, actually."

"So why does Eric still hang around here, then?"

"So he can find his next fighters," Will says with a shrug, "or just prey on the underclassmen. Either, really."

"Eric's ego is too big for him," Christina says, rolling her eyes, "we just tend to stay on his good side."

"And if you're on his bad side?"

"Only one person can answer that without fearing Eric," Uriah says, smirking. Christina nods, and Will agrees after a moment, "Four."

"Do he and Eric not get along?" I ask.

"Eric and Four are like a cat and a dog," Christina scoffs, "Four is just more of the dog type." I'm guessing Eric isn't his biggest fan then. Four's feelings must be mutual.

"What happened?"

"Four was constantly first in everything they did, always beating Eric. First in his class. Eric sometimes does a pretty good job at hiding his hatred; there are times when he'll definitely make it known though." Seems kinda childish to hate someone for just being good at things. I'm reminded of Peter, and his apparent hatred for me even though I never did anything wrong to him.

"Does he ever choose to fight Four?" I don't know why I'm so curious about them, but Four sounds like he's not much of a fighter unless provoked.

"Please," Christina snorts, "Four beat his ass good in their last fight. Eric refrains from even choosing him anymore. He'd rather watch the fights now."

"Isn't he afraid of looking like a coward?"

"He is, but Four never actually wants to fight him. And Four is so used to deflecting him on it, Eric just kinda gave up," Uriah must be pretty close with him if he knows so much, "...for now."

"Don't forget though, that Four would definitely take him on if he had to." Christina says, grinning.

"How come he wasn't at the pit last night?" I probably sound obsessed with this Four guy. I've asked them almost every question that came into my mind about him. But I can't tell, because they're not making it apparent.

"He was, but he lingers around the back mostly. I only saw him...maybe once and then he disappeared again." Uriah replies, scratching his eyebrow unconsciously, "my brother says he's been without a girl for almost a year now...he seems a lot more distant lately. Barely even looks at girls..."

"He probably doesn't see any worth his time," Christina shrugs, then smirks, "Or he's gay. Have you seen the majority of the female population at this place? He probably feels better off on his own now...no longer in school, living on his own and whatnot. He probably doesn't see the need right now."

"Don't let Four now you called him gay. I mean yeah, he never really was the type to chase girls," Uriah says with a reluctant sigh. I can't help the feeling that I have to meet him. He seems...below the average of unsupervised nineteen year old males running around here. He's interesting.

 **xXxXx**

I wasn't sure what I had agreed to, but Christina promised it was nothing much. Stupidly, I took her word for it. It felt like she had been working on me for hours – the eyeliner, the clothes, my hair.

But when she finally let me look in the mirror, I was impressed. It didn't look like I was wearing any make-up. Just a thin line of black above my eyelashes, and then some mascara. Together, it makes my eyes look darker yet more open, "you have really nice skin by the way," Christina comments, smiling at me through the glass, "I'm kinda jealous." I have to laugh.

"You did amazing," I say, staring at myself more than usual. I would merely take a glance in the mirror in the morning while I got ready but now I didn't want to pull my gaze away. I don't look plain anymore.

I especially love the clothes; a thin black sweater that clings to my wrists and my waist, with holes for my thumbs, and the jeans are tight but they allow me to still move. The ridged, straps that were sewn in for design make the pants look like nothing I have ever seen before, and the boots are surprisingly comfortable for steel toes.

My hair is down, parting slightly to the side and framing my face. I never realized just how long it was, or how thick. My hair feels lighter being down, not pulled or held tightly by tons of pins.

I don't even recognize myself. And I love it.

"We're going to be late if you keep staring at yourself," Christina smirks triumphantly, "black is certainly your color. Maybe we should go shopping later."

"Do you ever tire out?" I ask, following her out of the bathroom.

"That's the great thing about it, there's something new every night. Plus, you'll actually fit right in tonight."

 **xXxXx**

It's even more cramped at the pit tonight, much to Al's chagrin. He doesn't like too big a crowd, which makes me curious as to why he suddenly changed his mind about joining us.

I see Eric across the way, talking to a guy about my age; probably roughing him up for the fight. I'm not sure I really even want to stick around to see it, but it might be interesting should nothing else happen tonight.

I don't see Tori anywhere; Christina was right so far—she's probably not here. Will and Christina head further into the crowd while Al stays behind with me. We're both quiet, making this situation more awkward than before.

"Do you want something to drink?" Al asks me. I shake my head no, and mutter a small thanks. I'm not much of a drinker, and water isn't exactly an option I've seen too often down here.

Al says he's going to grab one for himself and I'm thankful for his escape. I just can't bring myself to start small talk, especially not with him. He's a nice guy, but that's about all there is. I don't even bother searching for Will or Christina; I just want a distraction.

Al comes back a short while later, looking a little more confident and maybe a little smug. He's drunk.

"So where did you transfer from again?" He asks, leaning towards me. No, he's probably just a little tipsy.

"New York," I reply, biting the inside of my cheek. I really don't like this side to him—I prefer his suffer-in-silence side.

"New York is a nice place," Al is staring at me so intently; all I want to do is hide. Small talk is not my forte, and neither is caring for a tipsy, 190 pound boy trying to hit on me, "you don't look like much of a city girl though."

"Uh, New York state." I correct him, "New York City is a little too flashy for me." I do love the city, but New York state is more tame.

"Yeah," he nods, "do you want to go somewhere a little more quiet?" I do. Just not with him.

"Uh, no I'm fine out here," I say. He frowns, but thankfully doesn't press me on it and looks around awkwardly.

"I'm gonna go get another drink," his fingers close around my shoulder, a little too close to the skin of my collarbone, and I shiver, "are you sure you don't want one?"

"I'm fine," I reply a little more aggressively than I mean to. I smile, hoping it'll mask most of my irritation. He barely even noticed. Al's off again and I bolt the first chance I get. I end up running through a back hallway; it's damp, and glowing blue under the lights. I stop to catch my breath when I know I'm well-hidden and look around me. I'm down an even longer hallway now.

I stand, pressed up against one of the walls, quietly trying to slow my breathing down. I can feel the cool cement through my clothes; the cold reminds me of Al's hand on my shoulder and I shiver.

I have caught someone's attention, because I hear footsteps trudging towards me. Before I can even get further into the shadows a firm hand grabs my arm. I let out a helpless scream, but the sound is blocked off by a rough palm muffling the sound.

At first I think that Al has found me, and that he is no longer taking no for an answer.

Except it's not Al I'm staring at in fear. It's Eric. He releases me to cross his arms over his chest, staring at me expectantly, "what are you doing back here, stiff?" I can't tell him I'm hiding—he's watching me, and if I make myself look even more vulnerable...

"I got lost," I say calmly.

"You got lost." He repeats, "looking for what?"

"The bathrooms," I automatically reply. When did I become the kind of person who opts for lying? Eric doesn't look convinced, and I know I've just gotten on his bad side.

"Eric!" Another male, he turns the corner and starts towards us, or just towards Eric since I'm too short and he's blocking me. I can't see who it is that's there until he's a few feet away, peering over Eric's shoulder at me, "what are you doing to her?"

"Relax, Four," Eric mutters, looking irritated. _Four! That's him?_ He looks intimidating, but in a handsome way; I've never really seen anyone like him– he is very tall. A muscular build, with piercing blue eyes that seem to get softer as they flicker to my face.

No wonder Christina is so fond of him.

"I caught her lurking back here," Eric cuts my thoughts off, and I refocus on the situation I'm in. Four looks back at me, analyzing me.

"New?" His voice rumbles as he speaks; it surprises me how deep his voice is when he looks so young. He looks about my age, except I know he's two years older. Eric nods and he sighs, "you can't be back here without one of the leaders. We keep better track of people that way." I nod, paralyzed. I expected him to yell—I'm a little disappointed. Four looks much more capable of volume and strength.

"Explain the rules to her, would ya' Four?" Eric says, bored. Eric steps around him to head back down the hallway, "I've got a fight to watch." Four rolls his eyes while Eric disappears around the corner.

"You alright?" Four asks. I nod slowly, and he begins to walk away. I wonder if he heard me scream and that's why he came, "come on." He tosses a glance over his shoulder to make sure I'm following him but doesn't stop to wait for me. I jog to catch up with him, "why were you back there?"

"Uh," I'm not sure how to answer him, if I should be honest. I doubt he'd even care.

"You gonna lie to me?" He sounds like he's teasing me, "if you are, make it good. This is the only time I'm gonna let it go." _Okay_.

"Well," I say, biting my lip, "uh, I was trying to get away from a guy...friend."

"Ex-boyfriend?" Four asks. I shake my head.

"No, just saving myself from hours of unwanted awkward conversation." He laughs.

"I'm getting a sense that you didn't opt for lying to me," he says, "I'm Four, one of the leaders here. What's your name?"

"Bea..." I don't know what makes me falter but here I just want to break away from Beatrice Prior: the stiff from New York with no friends, "my name's Tris."

"Well, Tris," Four says, stopping just before the corner, "I'm supposed to be telling you the rules, but nobody really cares about them. Eric breaks them all the time, so he's just being a hypocrite. You should get back to your friends."

"Okay," I say, nodding. He nods once in return and turns to head back down the hall.

"Oh," he says, glancing at me, "if Eric ever bothers you again, you know where to find me now." I'm stunned, to say the least. But if he's always back here, I'll never be able to search for him.

"Okay." It's all I can think to say. I want to go back there where it's quiet but I don't want to run into Eric again if he sees me. I probably look far too undisturbed as it is, should he see me walk out of here.

It doesn't take me too long to get back out to the main room. It's rowdy, and noisy but it's familiar to me even though I've only been here once before.

"Hey, there you are!" Christina throws her arm around my neck, shaking me until I'm off balance. The laughter bubbles up inside me, and I can't help it, "Al said you ran off."

"I got caught up," I lie.

"Wandering?" She asks, smirking, "you do that a lot." And I'm not surprised she notices. I need to break my habit of wanting to be alone. She's a great friend, "so what got you?" Should I tell her?

"I was in the back," her eyes widen, "Eric found me, and I think I'm probably on his bad side now."

"You have a death wish," she concludes with a laugh. She's sober, I can tell. She glanced around the area, too short to see over most people, then frowns, "damn...I don't see Four anywhere. Again. You would have liked him..." I bite my lip.

"Uh, well I met him," I say quietly.

" _What? When?_ "

"He rescued me from Eric," I reply. She smiles, nudging my shoulder.

" _And...?_ "

"And what?" She rolls her eyes and grabs my wrists, tugging on them.

" _Aaand_ what did you think of him?" She's staring at me, waiting for my response.

"He's nice," I shrug, "I only just met him."

"Wow. You are not like most girls," she laughs, "Because all these girls," she points around the room, "would point out a mile-long list of what they thought about him the moment they met him."

"He's attractive," I mutter. She gives me a look that says 'you can do better than that' and I sigh, "come on, Chris...if I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to set me up with him."

"Well, not really," she says slowly, "but he's single, and he always looks so lonely. You're a nice, and attractive girl. You guys could make it work."

"Okay, well we just met and I barely even know him." I reply, "give me time to get to know him a little better and I'll get back to you." I'm not being a hundred percent serious, but she takes it that way. We turn back to the fight but I barely focus on it—I just really wanna find Four again.

 **xXxXx** _  
Tobias Eaton's POV_

I'd like to think that at Nineteen years old I have made a good place for myself in the first year since having fully moved out of my father's at eighteen. I get myself up and ready for today; we're reopening the pit... I didn't care too much to ask when I heard something happened on Eric's watch, but I eventually heard about it. Eric doesn't like to play by the rules, and when some kids a little younger than sixteen made their way in last summer, one of them jumped down into the Chasm on the other side of the pit. Dead on impact; those rocks are lethal at the bottom.

I wasn't here all summer; my best friend Zeke, his family, and I ended up leaving Chicago for their summer house in Georgia, so I didn't have to go home to see my father.

Needless to say, my father wasn't happy about it. I am sure he had told his lies, that I make no effort to see him because I'm a horrible son ever since my mother passed away.

Just thinking about him puts me down, so with a sigh I stand up and stretch the sleep from my muscles. I head to the bathroom, running the water and strip out of my clothes. I step under the spray, feeling the warm water loosen my muscles more, thankful for the pounding of it on my skin because it's loud in my ears; it blocks out my thoughts.

I don't need to be down there for any specific time, regardless of what Eric's told me. Tori wouldn't care and Eric's just pissed that I'm even a leader. Not that I really wanted to be either, but Eric needs someone to make him get down from his high horse every once in a while.

I wash up but end up spending more time just standing under the water than anything else. When I shut the spray off, I step out, wrap a towel around my waist, and head back out into the other room to get dressed.

My apartment is a little shabby. It probably always will be, but I liked how open it was when we got to choose where we'd be staying. There's a large window that takes up most of the wall behind my bed; the main room was the largest, so I also made it the bedroom. The kitchen isn't much larger than the bathroom, but I hardly ever use it so it doesn't bother me at all.

I get dressed fairly quickly; throwing on my jacket, I head down to the main area of the pit.

Last night was my first night back, I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it here. Nostalgia, probably. I remember how happy I was the moment my father shipped me off to this place. He sent me out here for boarding school when I was sixteen; He expected me to be ungrateful and miserable, to actually want to go back home. How wrong he was. I loved it, because I was away from him. At the time, I lived at the school but some of my greatest memories happened in the pit; befriending Zeke, beating Eric in our first fight, growing stronger by the day... I couldn't have asked for a better escape.

It's just the times that my father tries to put me back on the leash that nearly cripple me.

I'm old enough now to decide whether or not I want to return home. My choice is obvious. And despite all of that, including Eric being an asshole towards me – though I can usually shut him out – I've had the time of my life here for the last three years.

"I told you to be down here at eight," Eric says irritably, "It's eight-thirty now, Eaton," I just shrug.

"Tori said there was no specific time," I reply, maybe a little too smug. He's not happy with me, but then again when is he ever?

"Well Tori's not here right now."

"You're also not the only one in charge, Eric. Or did you forget I'm just as worthy of this position as you are?" Definitely smug. He's practically glaring daggers into me now, however, I could care less. It's my first day back, I'm not about to let Eric think he can tighten the collar. I see Zeke jumping down from the hole, landing unceremoniously in the net. He's howling at the top of his lungs, with the sound echoing even louder off the walls. I'm not sure why he still chooses to enter this way, we know all of the entrances.

"My man, Four!" Zeke says, jumping out of the net, "you're actually awake before noon!"

"Yeah, well I would say that was your fault all summer," I retort. He's smirking at me like he's the greatest damn thing and I can't help but try to get a swing in. He was constantly setting me up with some new girl on double dates – somehow they always ended of him making out with the girl he brought while the girl he set me up with was offended by something I had said or done earlier on. And we could never leave until they were ready to part. So long story short, I'm not the most romantic guy around.

"You need to work on your game," Zeke jokes, punching my shoulder. Another body lands in the net, and I notice it's Uriah, "God bless the girl that's tough enough to put up with your sorry ass. Maybe once you finally get laid you'll loosen up." I give him a strict glare.

"I doubt anyone's up for the task," Uriah says, joining us, "he's the Legendary Four. Too much of a hot head." They burst into laughter as I roll my eyes at the title I've been given. Legendary Four; my first fight took four seconds. About two summers ago, Zeke and I were watching some fights going on. At the time, Eric wasn't in charge of them. I was chosen to fight; the kid I was up against was no bigger than me. I knew nothing about blocking, punches, any of that. My instincts took over, I swung forward and next thing I knew the kid fell to the ground and the pit erupted into cheers and chaos.

"Shouldn't you be in school?" I ask.

"So?" Uriah grins, "don't act so perfect, you skipped a bunch of times."

"It's only the first day," I say, shaking my head, "and I didn't skip nearly as often as you, Shauna, Marlene, or Tori."

"You still skipped." He shrugs, "besides, it's not like you're gonna tell on me."

"Don't be so sure about that."

"You don't care enough to tell on me. Besides, you're too old. Matthews would probably wonder why you were snitching on a student," Uriah says, shaking his head at me. He turns to Zeke then, "Hey, some of us want to go zip lining soon, you gonna join?"

"When were you thinking?" Zeke asks.

"Maybe in about a week or so? We're changing the direction of the line this year," I leave them to it, since I have no desire to join them on their suicide mission. Zip lining, the way they do it, means hundreds of feet above the city at abrupt angles and between buildings. All at night, which makes it harder to see and only adds to my terror. If I wasn't so afraid of heights, I would probably go with them.

They don't even bother trying to convince me anymore. If I can avoid my fears, I will.

 **xXxXx**

I'm not surprised when I see so many familiar faces at the pit; it's the center of life around here. Especially for those of us who are dauntless enough to jump off the buildings above to get in. I surprised myself, three years ago, when I took that jump.

When Zeke and his friend, Amar, brought me here for the first time I didn't jump first. I made Zeke go, but he only promised to jump first if I did right after. It had to have taken me a good five minutes before I found even an ounce of courage to throw myself forward.

I've decided to stay in the upper level tonight, while Eric and Tori take care of the lower. For the last hour the main area has been filling up. Out by the net where nobody really hangs out for too long, I've been watching people as they land, exhilarated and terrified.

I stay by that hole in the dark, away from the noise so I can have some peace for a while. Nobody else has really come in, so I assume everyone who knows about us is here.

But a grey blur catches my eye just as I'm about to head back into the main room; another person in the net. A girl; I've never seen her here before. I didn't even hear her scream on the way down, but I do hear her voice seconds later.

She's laughing.

It's kind of amusing; I watch as her fingers tighten and untighten around the rope. Her hair is sprawled out across her face, some of it hanging down through the net. She looks ordinary; definitely too new to have ever been here before. She's a stiff, as Eric would say.

The net looks huge compared to her, that's how small she is from where I'm standing. I don't think she even sees me up here. There's a scream from above. She tries to move, but isn't fast enough as I see an even smaller heap of limbs land beside her.

It's Christina. She's laughing, holding her chin; I assume from smacking into the new girl, "Damn, I thought you had gotten out of this thing already." Christina's the first one out. She helps the girl down, and even from up here I can see her knees shaking with adrenaline. I wonder how Christina came across her; who is she? I'll have to find out more later, but for now I don't stick around much after they're out of the net. I head back out into the main room, watching from above. Zeke and Uriah are off, probably trying to hit on girls, so I have nowhere to be at the moment.

I spot Christina again, at the top of the stairs with the stiff right beside her, looking sorely out of place. Eric calls them over, which has me interested since this girl has no idea what she's getting into here.

He doesn't look impressed – if anything, he's looking at her like she's fresh meat. But the way she talks, even though I can't hear her, she looks confident. It's almost surreal watching Eric not intimidating a stiff.

I see Tori stalking towards them; my first thought is that this probably won't end well, because of Tori's hard nature, but she looks impressed. Watching people isn't what I usually do, but Christina never usually brings anyone that clean in. What I wouldn't give to know what she just said to Tori to make her back off like that.

Tori comes to me, over the noise I can barely hear her from a foot away. She leans in, a smirk on her lips, "Looks like we've got to break her in, huh?"

"Who is she?" I yell over the noise. Tori shrugs.

"Didn't catch her name, but she's got confidence," she says, "Eric won't believe me, but she'll fit in just fine." With that, I tell Tori I'm heading up to the apartments. It seems that Eric and Tori have the pit all taken care of, so I head back to my apartment to retire for the night.

 **xXxXx**

I head to Tori's apartment early the next morning.

She's drawing my tattoo today; it's only about five in the morning, but I want to get this done first then head down to the pit before Eric so I can get some exercise time in... without being bothered.

When I get there, Tori doesn't look thrilled to be up this early but I know she'll do this for me. Though she'll never admit it if you asked, she's wanted me to get a tattoo since I met her. I just told her I needed time to think about it. I don't want anything meaningless, or just for looks.

"Everything's set up, I just need sketch it out," she says, "start talking."

"Hi to you, too," I say, smirking. She gives me a look, like she wants to smack me, but instead turns to go back inside. I follow her; her apartment always makes me uneasy because of the lack of windows. She has no windows in the main room, and it's not quite as big as mine either. The tight feeling in my chest swells at the thought; this is not the time to get claustrophobic.

As I explain to her what I want, though straying away from what it means, she sketches away on a sheet of transfer paper. She has sheets filled with different designs, and as I look at them more I try to incorporate them with mine. It's quite a large tattoo now, but it's perfect.

"Where the hell am I tattooing this?" She asks when she's done. "You do know how big this is going to be, right? It's going to take a few sessions. I may only get the outline done today."

"That's fine," I say, and she looks at me. With a sigh, she shakes her head giving me an unsurprised look. Probably because she knows I'm stubborn – or she thinks I'm insane and she's used to it.

"Where?" _Where do I want this tattoo?_ I don't want the whole of it to wrap around, I want it to be easily seen should I ever have a reason to show it. My back is probably the best option, though I won't be able to see it myself. I think I could be okay with that.

"My back," I reply after a moment. I don't need to see it, I just need to know it's there.

 **xXxXx**

My fists collide with the sturdy fabric and the tough material beneath, continuously. I'm so used to the pain that I don't have to stop, I just shake my heads out before the next hit and go.

I'm the only one in the training room right now, it's still too early for most to be awake and around anyways. Tori finished the outline fairly quickly, looking mighty proud of herself. I was afraid, at first, that she tattooed something else but I know she wouldn't do that to me.

She just liked how well it looked so far. Her words, not mine.

The light stinging in my back from the needle keeps me focused, makes me hit harder. I focus on that and I don't think about anything else. Fighting out of anger is how you get hurt, and fighting out of focus is how you get knocked out. So I don't think about anything but building up strength.

I don't even hear the footsteps over the sound of my practice, but when a hand clasps onto my shoulder I can't help but turn around and grip the hand in a tight hold. It's Eric.

"What the hell was that for?" I hiss, trying to catch my breath.

"Someone's jumpy," Eric says, yanking his arm back. "Or sore."

"Because you scare me," I feign a slight tremble, and drop his hand roughly. I know he's referring to my tattoo; some of it can't be covered by a shirt. "What do you want?"

"Tori says Max and some of the others need us. Though I can tell them you have no interest in joining us—,"

"Fat chance," I say, shoving past him. "I'd say tell them I'll be there, but knowing you my message won't get across so I'll let Tori know." I leave the training room to go find her.

 **xXxXx**

I'll never know – nor ever care to know – how Eric gets the pit to fill up so much. The only good thing that I get out of it is being able to sneak away for hours at a time and find some peace. With so many faces, and Eric practically drinking himself sick on most nights, I never have to worry about getting away.

I never ask him what he's got planned. I don't care enough to bother. But from Tori, I know Eric's got a fight planned. At least he stopped trying to get me to fight him. I could take him easily, but I don't particularly care for unnecessary violence.

Plus, my back is still kinda sore from the tattoo.

But I've kept a close eye on Eric since new faces – _stiffs_ – have been showing up. Eric, is by no stretch of the imagination, a nice person. Regardless of newcomers or not. I don't feel like dragging some poor, unaware teenager to medical help.

I must have spoken too soon, because I watch him go into the back. My curiosity gets the best of me, since he's always out here, where the center of life takes place. It's not often that Eric goes back there – I've seen him do this three times now. All have ended with him coming back out, knuckles bruised or bloody.

And as I look around, I spot Uriah with his other friends and I noticed there were two more in his group much earlier. They're gone now. Would Eric have gone after two? I remember one being a male, maybe the other was female.

Either way I'm going to try and see what he's after. So I head back, trying not to shove through people though it gets me through faster. I hear some curses thrown at me, but I don't really care. As I get away from the noise, I begin to hear a couple voices down the hall. I hear some sort of struggle – it sounds like a girl. The first voice I actually hear, I register as Eric's. If he's attacking a girl, this would definitely be the first time I've walked into it. I don't wait until I'm around the corner to yell out for him.

"Eric!" He never lurks in the back so I know he is after something—or in this case someone. I'm not close enough to see who that person is until I'm a few feet away, peaking over his shoulder.

I notice it's the girl from the first night; she is about a foot shorter than he is, trembling. Her appearance is different now, less clean than the first time I saw her. She is wearing all black, fitted and it suits her well. Her eyes are more noticeable, the make-up makes them stand out. Her eyes remind me of a deer's, staring into a pair of headlights. I'm unaware of how close Eric is to her until she takes a cautious step back. She still has a whole hallway behind her, despite how long this one already is, yet I know—and I'm sure she knew—that there was no way she'd make it. Eric may not be as fast as me, but something tells me he's faster than her. He would have stopped her somehow, "what are you doing to her?"

Of course it's her.

Her trepidation flows like waves in this confined corridor, wrapping around the three of us like thick rope. Eric can sense her fear—that's the only reason he's cornering her. I can sense her fear because she's looking at me like I'm her savior.

I wish she wouldn't look at me like that.

"Relax, Four," Eric grumbles, peering at me over his shoulder, "I caught her lurking back here." I don't really care what Eric is saying to me, I just notice her. She is a good foot and a half shorter than me with long, blonde hair. She's an observer, I can see the way her eyes are analyzing the both of us in front of her.

I don't think she was lurking, but Eric has his mind set and I know there's nothing else I can do but try and free the noose. I play dumb and sigh, "new?" As far as I can tell, he only grabbed her. At least he didn't hit her, so I got here just in time.

Eric nods to answer my question. I don't want to be a mean leader, especially not the way Eric handles things around here. The best I can manage, since she already looks scared to death, is a minor warning, "you can't be back here without one of the leaders. We keep better track of people that way."

The look again. I suppress my groan of irritation and let out another huff of breath. She's in this situation, and it could have been avoided. I suddenly wonder how she got herself into this.

"Explain the rules to her, would ya' Four? I've got a fight to watch," Eric says, shoving past me to leave. I can't help but roll my eyes, since he's all for setting rules but never for reinforcing them himself. I wait until his footsteps sound further away before returning my gaze to the small girl in front of me.

I want to ask her how old she is since she looks older now from when I first saw her, and I know for a fact she passed Tori's inspection somehow, so she's old enough. Instead I ask her, "You alright?" She looks sturdier now as she nods; I take it she knows I'm not gonna hurt her. I should get her back to the main room, "come on." I don't hear her walking behind me at first, but then the soles of her shoes slap against the cement as she jogs up to my side.

She's not much of a talker, that's for sure. I don't even know what her voice sounds like but I imagine it's soft, "why were you back there?" I ask her. She hesitates, letting out a small breath of air, "You gonna lie to me? If you are, make it good. This is the only time I'm gonna let it go," I can't help but smirk at her. At how at ease I suddenly feel with her next to me.

I wonder if that's because it's nice to not be walking this hall alone for once, or if it's because I managed to save her from what could have become a horrible attack.

A part of me doubts she even wants to talk to me. Like she feels safer keeping her mouth shut than speaking out loud but then her voice—soft and slow, yet unwavering and somewhat serious—rings in my ears. For someone so small, I'm amazed it's as low as it sounds.

"Well...uh, I was trying to get away from a guy..." She bites her lip, hesitating again, "...friend." Guy _friend?_

"Ex-boyfriend?" I ask, but she shakes her head. I can't explain the slight relief in my lungs; maybe she just seems too good, too innocent, too young to really be in anything serious. I still want to know how old she is, but I don't think it's appropriate to ask.

"No, just saving myself from hours of unwanted awkward conversation." I have to laugh, a real laugh. So not a boyfriend, just a guy who'd like to get there.

"I take it you didn't opt for lying to me," I say, watching her lips turn up at the corners. "I'm Four, one of the leaders..." She probably already knows that, but I find it's an easier starting point, "what's your name?"

I catch a small sound from her; another hesitation. _Is her name hard? Or does she not like it? Or does she prefer to keep that to herself since she just met me?_ "...my name's Tris." I wonder if it's an alias – it has to be if she hesitated. But somehow I understand her, like she's similar to me in a way. My nickname gives me an out, I'll give her this one.

 _Tris_.

Not the name I expected to hear, but I like it. Even if it's not her full name; she doesn't know my real name either anyway, "Well Tris," I say, testing her name in my mouth, "I'm supposed to be telling you the rules, but nobody really cares about them. Eric breaks them all the time so he's just being a hypocrite." She smirks a little, "you should get back to your friends."

For once, this hallway is not long enough.

But I can't keep her back here with me any longer—Eric would probably search us out and the last thing I want is to see him give her a punishment for not coming back out. Granted, she would be with me—a leader—but I don't want to push the boundaries anymore tonight.

"Okay," Tris replies; I nod and begin to head back. I want to process this. But before I fully leave her standing alone here, I can't help but utter one last sentence.

"Oh, if Eric ever bothers you again you know where to find me," I hear another 'okay' and turn away. I really just want to talk to her more, which scares me.

Uriah always taunted me about never developing interest in girls, even Zeke joined in occasionally—always saying maybe I was gay—but something about Tris just clicked. She's not like other girls and I can't tell what's gripping at my mind.

Is it because she looks so fragile, yet determinedly strong? Or maybe the way she hesitated on her name, looking for a different identity here. It isn't something petty, like her eyes or her face in general—though both have my attention. I want to talk to her more— _I need to_. I can't explain why.

I didn't scare her. Eric did, but she looked at me like I had saved her.

I still don't know her age, that factor alone scares me a little bit. She just looks so young to me. I'm nineteen, sometimes I still feel much younger than I am yet every time I glance in a mirror I look different than the number. Some days I look older, like I could be twenty-two at most.

I stopped thinking age was just a number a long time ago; now I realize there's a certain importance to it. Whether we ever find out what that significance is, I'm not sure. But I want to get to know her, I'll just keep my distance if necessary.


	2. Legendary Four

**CHAPTER 2 – LEGENDARY FOUR**  
 _Tris Prior's POV_

I'm nothing like my brother, academically.

Christina is half asleep to my right while I keep glancing at the clock. We've already been chastised once for not paying attention, I don't plan on making a habit out of it. I tuned out most of the lesson, though I heard enough bits and pieces to know what she was talking about.

Sort of like an old caste system, '...the segregation of people based on values is in our future...' She sounds like a fortune teller, but a part of me believes she's right. We all know enough to understand that our society is not perfect, and that sooner or later they're going to try and keep order any way they can.

"I'll stop there," she sighs, "since most of you aren't paying attention anymore." It's not like we want to ignore her, it just happens. Christina perks up, nearly bouncing in her seat.

"What are you suddenly so excited for?" I ask her. There's a look in her eyes – like adrenaline swimming beneath the color – and she grins at me like an idiot. I'm not sure if I should be scared, I've never seen this much extra energy from her.

"Uriah wants us to meet him at the pit tonight – you, me, Will, Al...we're meeting him and his brother. They have a surprise, and Uriah says it's amazing!" I can't help my own excitement bubbling up inside me. I can't tell if it's from thinking about it, or being included.

"Do we get to know what it is before we go?" Christina shrugs her shoulders.

"I'm not sure, but Uriah wouldn't get us into anything dangerous." I have to take her word for it – and this feeling that tells me she's right.

 **xXxXx**

I sit on the bathroom sink while Christina reapplies my make-up. Most of it had worn off, which bothered her since lunch. Her sighs of frustration when my eyelids twitch are quite amusing since I'm not used to having someone touch my eyes. Especially not with pencils, or brushes.

"You gotta learn to keep your eyes still," She grumbles, wiping a spot she over applied to.

"Sorry," I say, exhaling. When she thinks she's done a good job, she pulls away and throws the materials into her bag. We go back to the room so she can drop it off and get changed; I stay in the same clothes, I can't get over them. Tonight she has me in something a little more loose, the shirt is fitted around my waist, but oversized around my arms. I have on a pair of skinny black jeans and red sneakers.

"Oh, one more thing," Christina walks towards me, taking my hair in her hands and brushing through it. She pulls through knots and tangles, barely even hurting me. She reminds me of when my mother used to brush my hair; I would always sit so still and just wait for the bristles to tease the strands.

Christina has this nature about her, almost nurturing, "do you have any little siblings?"

"That's random," Christina says, but I hear her smiling, "but yeah, I have a little sister. Her name is Rose. Why?"

"You just reminded me of how my mother used to brush my hair. It made me wonder if you cared for a brother or sister at some point." I shrug, and she puts the brush up on top of my dresser. She fans my hair out, down my shoulders and my back, parting my hair on the side a little. She smiles, nodding as she finishes and we head out, meeting up with Will and Al.

I still feel too closed off around Al – so I try not to leave Christina's side on the walk there.

"Yeah, you guys made it!" Uriah cheers; he wraps his arms around me, swinging me around. I laugh, gripping his shoulders so I don't slip through, despite how strong he's holding me. He has a firm grip, which I appreciate because he doesn't let go until I'm standing, "You're gonna love it. So long as you don't have a fear of heights."

"What are we doing?" I ask. There's that excitement in his eyes, like the kind Christina had earlier today. But I don't find it nerving this time, instead I almost match their excitement.

"Kind of an initiation," Uriah says. He's being vague – the jumping off a building wasn't enough initiation, that now we have another addition to an adrenaline rush involving heights... yet I feel just as excited. Maybe Christina's right, maybe I do have a death wish.

I see Four across the room, talking with a boy, maybe about his age, who looks like Uriah. That must be his brother. It's a rare moment, since Four looks genuinely happy. This is the second time I've seen him this way, the first being when he told me I could lie to him.

"Zeke!" Uriah calls, waving him over. Four's looking at me. I smile, a little shy, and wave. He nods, returning a smile back, "they're ready to go." I see Zeke turn back to him, he asks him something but Four shakes his head.

And then Zeke is with us, greeting us. We head out one of the back ways, one that Zeke and Uriah seem to know too well, and then we're outside, sprinting across the street. I'm not sure how long we run for, my legs ache and my lungs burn as I try to keep up with them. I'm out of breath by the time we reach a polished lobby of a towering building. It's the Hancock building, I've seen it from my window in the dorm but I never thought I'd ever go inside it.

Uriah, Christina, and Zeke all bet on one of the three elevators, anticipating which will be the first to open. They push the buttons on each, and then begin to bang on the elevator doors, howling energetically. They don't even care that there could still be people in this building and it makes me laugh. Christina gets me to join, and soon my palms are slapping cool metal.

Zeke's opens first, and he tackles Uriah who was trying to get a hit in. He's got him in a headlock, dragging him into the elevator while he kneads his knuckles into Uriah's skull. Christina is laughing into Will's shoulder; Al is laughing also. I have to join in, because this is the happiest moment I've ever experienced.

When Zeke finally releases Uriah, we're on the twenty-fifth floor, "Marlene, Shauna, Tori, and some others are gonna be waiting for us when we get up there," Zeke says, looking around at us, "I hope you guys enjoy flying."

It takes a few minutes – I mostly listen to the chatter from the others while we wait for the elevator to reach the ninety-ninth floor. It's dark all the way down the rest of the shaft, the glass flooring showing us just how high up we are. We have to climb the stairs to get up to the roof, but when we do I have to stop.

I've never been up this high; I've never looked down at a bustling city, at night, from the top of a building. Everything looks so small, but the city looks huge. I see a span of lights, all across almost like a grid, and it's beautiful. It's breathtaking. I suddenly wonder why Four isn't here with us.

Zeke jumps down from the top of the vent, pulling a metal harness with him, "who's going first?" It's attached to a zip line, yet I don't see where the line ends.

"I am!" A girl, Marlene, calls out with her arm raised. She's excited, nearly jumping over the harness as she gets up. She lies, facing up toward the sky while Zeke and Uriah tighten the straps around her body. She gives them a thumbs up and they let her go, and I watch her disappear across the darkness.

I let a few people go before me; Christina sits in it, facing the way she'll be going. They tighten her in and then release her; I listen as her screaming becomes distant and I suddenly feel anxious. Uriah says something to me, I assume it's my turn because he's holding his hand out for me.

Cautiously, I take it. Again, his firm grip has subdued most of my fear and I'm lying, face down towards the ground as they tighten the harness around my ribcage and my waist. "Don't forget to pull the brake at the bottom," Uriah says over the wind. I nod, and he pats my shoulder before they tug me back and throw me forward.

The scream I was prepared to release is stuck in my throat; all I can see are blurs of light, and glares off glass windows as I zip through the air. My heart is practically in my throat, but I throw my arms out at my sides anyway.

I'm flying. This is what Zeke meant.

The lights smear past my eyes, and then I'm looking at my reflection on one of the dark buildings. My hair is all over the place, in my mouth from screaming, being whipped back by the air. I look careless and I feel free.

The building ends, and I'm looking down again across the fair ground. The Ferris Wheel is standing tall, but it's unlit. Summer is over, so it makes sense. But the lights that keep the grounds lit shine bright, so I can see the attractions and the trees around the fence.

In one building, there's a light on and I see a little girl staring wide-eyed out the window at me. She's jumping excitedly, I'm not sure she even knows I'm wearing the harness. She must have been watching the others, too. I wonder if she truly believes I'm flying. So I wave at her, and she waves back.

The line is going down then, angling me like I'm going to hit the pavement. My heart lurches, and I'm unsure of if this is when I should pull the brakes but the closer I get I see that the line still goes. My fingers grab the brake anyway, but I don't pull down just yet.

I'm lower than before, and the line dips down into a dark alley. There's a bright 'X' against a back wall, and I see people below. I spot Christina and Will the closer I get; then they're all shouting to pull the brake. My fingers are so numb from the adrenaline, that I have to pull a little harder just to get them to work.

The breaks squeal to life, sparks from the cable sprinkle down and I stop just a good few feet away from the 'X'. Cheers erupt all around me, and I let out a scream of pure triumph and pure terror because my heart is still beating rapidly. Hands tug me down while someone else opens the clips on the harness. I am down on my shaky legs, holding Christina for support. She's laughing at me, but also laughing with me.

We wait for Al, and then Uriah, and then Zeke to reach the end. The air is quiet now, without all of our screams but we're cheering boisterously through the streets as we head back to the pit. Some of the guys, like Zeke or Uriah or Will, are jumping over garbage bins. They're insane, but yet I find it hilarious.

Marlene is carrying Shauna on her back, they're laughing as they dodge invisible things and punch street signs. Christina is running beside me, howling into the air. They're shouting a chant, something about being dauntless, about being fearless.

And I know I've ever been happier.

We're wreaking havoc across the streets of Chicago; Christina tugs on my sleeve, steering me towards one of the alleys that the others have cut through. Zeke stands on a garbage bin, climbing the fence that cuts off the pathway before helping Shauna over, and then Marlene. Uriah gets onto the bin and balances on top of the chain link fence, before he careless flings himself over onto the pavement. Al and Will get over easily, while Christina climbs the bin and helps me up, "Together?" She laughs.

"Together!" I nod; we climb up the fence and grab the top of it, throwing ourselves over. My knees are sore from the impact, but we keep running. I don't even know which way we've gone, or how we got back but soon enough we're landing in the net and greeted by cheers from others in the pit.

This time I'm the last one to jump, but when I hit the net I'm the happiest I've ever been. The rush from tonight, it should be too much for one night but it's not. I'm craving more, I feel alive.

A pair of strong hands pull me down from the net, and I'm staring at Four. I must be grinning like an idiot, because he's smirking. I'm breathless from too many things tonight but the look he's giving me tops them all, "I can tell they gave you the full run," I nod, laughing. He releases me too quickly, and keeps his hands at his side. He is staring at me for a moment, and when he breathes out I can smell alcohol. He's been drinking, but by the looks of it not a lot.

"Four!" Someone calls him from across the room, beckoning him over and he checks to make sure I've got my balance before he runs off. Christina finds me, wrapping her arms around my neck and jumping up and down. Her laughter in my ear is the most euphoric sound I've ever heard. All of this, everything that's taken place tonight...it's like waking up.

"I'm gonna get something to drink," Christina says, releasing her grip on me.

"I think I will too," I say. She claps me on the back and she pulls me with her; my legs are still shaking but I keep going.

 **xXxXx**

The next morning, Christina and I head to breakfast with the guys, and then we are on to our first few classes of the day. I feel distracted for most of the classes, thinking about the events of last night and of Four. I wonder if he was waiting for me, he was the one to pull me out of the net.

We meet up with Will and Uriah during lunch. They have our seats already pulled out for us, but I notice the last seat is empty. "Where's Al?" I ask, glancing around. He's usually always here.

"Don't know," Uriah shrugs, "I haven't seen him today."

"That's weird," Christina says, "maybe he just got caught up after class or something."

"So," Uriah says, leaning towards my chair more, "how did you like zip lining through the city?" I don't think I can even explain the feeling it gave me. _Euphoric_ doesn't seem to be a strong enough word anymore for something like that.

"It was _amazing_ ," it's the only way I can describe it, "I wasn't expecting that." Uriah laughs, digging into the food on his tray.

"Yeah, we're gonna probably go again sometime before the winter starts. You gonna go again?"

"Yeah," I say, practically smiling from ear to ear, "I am."

 **xXxXx**

It's Saturday night, and Eric is about to start another fight at the pit.

I think it's a rematch between the two from the last fight since the boy Eric was rooting for disappointed him.

I keep looking around for Four; it's been a few days since he helped me out of the net, and I haven't seen much of him around here since. Occasionally, I'll see him lurking around the back, only stopping to talk to someone he knows or to make sure everything is in order.

He's strange, but I think that's why I'm so drawn to him.

Christina and Will left me by myself a while ago; Uriah is off with Marlene, getting ready to watch the fight. I saw Zeke with Four earlier, but now he's with Shauna and they're laughing about something.

I see him then, standing at the railings on the upper level, glancing down. I can't exactly tell if he's looking at me, but I think he is. He nods, motioning to come up and I discreetly point to myself. He nods.

I'm not sure where the stairs are, though I don't waste a second. I don't want to keep standing down here in the midst of everything, so I watch him as he heads down the ramp toward the stairs. He meets me halfway. "Hey," he says. A shy smile comes across his face.

"Hi," I say, trying not to sound breathless from the climb.

"I didn't get a chance to ask you how the zip lining went."

"It was incredible. I'm looking forward to doing it again," I answer as we begin to walk back the way he came.

"Are you going tonight?" Four looks at me when he asks this, "Surely you don't care about a rematch fight?"

"Uh no," I say, shaking my head, "to both. But Uriah says they plan to go again before winter." He nods for a moment, "so why are we up here?"

"Do you not want to be?" He asks. I shake my head again, "It just looked a little too crowded down there."

"No, I mean I like it up here," I reply, sliding my fingers along the railing. It looks over the entire pit where we are, I understand why he likes it up here, "I'm just surprised you want me up here with you." He scoffs, but doesn't respond for a moment.

"I brought you up here for two reasons," he says, stopping just at the middle of the path, "one, because the fights can get rough down there and you won't be able to see when everyone tries to get a better look if you actually want to watch it. And two, because I want you up here." _He_ wants _me up here? Like,_ with _him...?_

"Okay," I don't really know what to say. He smirks a little at my lack of response, and then looks down as Eric begins to announce the short list of rules, "they can't concede?"

"They used to be able to," Four answers. I take this moment to look at him; even slouched against the railings he still looks so tall. His leg is bouncing, like he's anxious, "but since Eric has become the tyrant of this place nobody's allowed to concede."

"Can't you do something about it?" I ask. Four shrugs, and turns to look at me.

"I could, but Eric has more influence around here," he explains, shaking his head, "and if people want to associate themselves with him, then they'll follow whatever rules he makes. I'd rather not further involve myself." From where we're standing, I can see Eric glancing up at us. He looks like he's glaring, probably at me but given their history maybe it's directed at Four. Or at both of us.

I am not his favorite person. So why Four thinks it's okay for me to be up here with him confuses me. Aren't I supposed to be trying to at least avoid any more conflict with Eric?

"That's not fair, if there are three people in control," at least three that I know of.

"There used to be five of us," Four says suddenly, searching my face for a reaction. Something tells me they knew Eric was one and bailed, so I'm not surprised only two others stayed. But I ask anyway.

"What happened to the other two?" He turns back to the fight for a moment. Eric looks pissed; I'm assuming the fight is the same as last week's.

"Eric owes me ten bucks," he sighs, "usually he's good at picking the skilled ones." Four looks a little smug as he speaks – I bite my lip to keep from smiling. "Eric got the other two to go against each other, claiming one was more useful in his position than the other. That caused an annoying argument between the two for weeks and eventually Tori and I got so fed up we told them just to go. Eric wouldn't even try that with Tori or me, thankfully, but that still doesn't stop him from trying to mess with me." He's referring back to my question now. I nod slowly, understanding.

"Why can't you or Tori do something about him?" I want to ask if he's afraid of Eric, but a voice in the back of my head is telling me I might offend him if I bothered.

"It's a complicated issue," it's all he gives me. I sigh and watch the fight more. Eric looks deadly calm, glaring at the boy down on the ground. He tells two larger men by his side to get him off the mat and when they do I try not to think of where he's being taken.

That is if they'll even take care of him afterwards.

"I have a question that's been bugging me for a few days now," Four says, standing up straighter, "hopefully I don't offend you." _Offend me?_ I'm wondering now if I should start walking away, but he sucks in a breath and asks, "How old are you?"

So I laugh, probably a little too hard, "Sorry." I say after a moment, "I'm seventeen. I know...I look younger." He looks relieved. _Was that really bugging him?_ I know I probably look about fifteen, but I don't think I'd be here if I was. My fifteen year old self would be too terrified – and back in New York.

"You look seventeen," he says slowly. _Now I do_.

"Thanks to Christina," I say with a nod. If it weren't for her and that makeup bag... We're quiet, watching as Eric has the two men set up a new event. There's a wooden backboard, with a human shape marked into it. There are slices and dents all over the outer edges; _target practice?_ "What is he doing now?"

"Watch," Four's eyes are glowing as he watches them set up. I suppose this must be his favorite event. Although I suddenly see Christina step out into the middle of the floor. Eric says something to her I don't hear over the noise. She goes to stand in front of the target, and Eric looks up at Four motioning him to go down there.

I'm piecing things together as I stare at Christina. When I look at Four, the color has left his face some, "wait, what is he doing?" I demand, stopping Four from walking past me. He doesn't look happy all of a sudden, and he removes my hand from his arm. His palms are rough, and calloused.

"He's picked Christina as the target," Four says, "I have to."

"Have to...!? No, Four!" _Is he crazy?_ _Christina could get hurt. She will get hurt! Somehow. It's_ sick – using a real person as a target. What even is the weapon of choice, I wonder, but either way I'm not going to watch Christina stand there while they aim at her.

So I'm sprinting then, ignoring Four telling me to stop and when I get back on the floor I shove through the group that's formed. "Christina!" She looks at me, shaking her head. This is not okay. I try to run to her, but I'm yanked back by the fabric of my shirt.

"Tris!" It's Four. I knew he would catch up to me. I just needed more time. The crowd is noisy, getting irritated that nothing has taken place yet. Eric steps down from where he's standing and starts towards me. I hear Four curse behind me, and his fingers release my shirt.

"What do you think you're doing, stiff?" Eric demands, towering over me. _This is not good._ I wasn't thinking, but at the same time I was thinking about Christina. What's my best option? Watch – or barely watch – my best friend get aimed at, or take her place? Four is dead silent behind me, barely even moving as far as I can tell.

"I'm going to take her place," I say as confidently as I can manage. I hear Four behind me, protesting and Christina staring at me wide-eyed across the gap. "I'll be the target."

"Same rules apply then," Eric says after a minute, smirking at me. "You flinch, and I give you a second strike." I know he is referring to the night he caught me trying to escape Al's advances. This is a test of bravery, now. To not flinch, I have to make myself relax. I see Christina, about ready to protest as well but she's dragged away from the target and I go to take her spot. "Do the honors, Four?"

Four is glaring at me now. He's pleading with me at the same time, piercing me against the backboard with his eyes. Honestly, I don't want to be in this position either, but I made this choice so I'll deal with it. Eric hands him a total of four knives. _Knives?_

Now I'm just hoping Four knows how to aim.

I release a shaky breath, and hold my hands behind my back to make myself thinner. Four turns the first knife over in his hand. Everyone is silent around us, and before I can even blink I hear the knife slam into the wood by my arm. He's close, but not close enough because Eric mutters something to him.

I have to close my eyes, if I don't watch him I can relax better, "Eyes open." Four commands. All humor is gone from him – he's being serious, his tone is like he's scolding a child and maybe he thinks I am one. I open my eyes again, just in time to catch the second knife stick a few inches from my neck. He caught my hair. A few strands land in dead strings on my sweater, "You can get closer," Eric says.

"You want me to take a little off the top?" Four asks. He's adding fuel to Eric's fire, _why is he taunting me?_

"Yeah, maybe just a little," Eric responds, smug. Four pulls his arm back, and in a flash he releases the third knife. I don't see where this one ends up exactly, but I know it's just above my head from the way the board vibrates beneath my skull. Any closer and I know he'll catch me.

Four holds the last knife, twisting it around his fingers like the first one. He's watching me, like he's deciding where he'll aim for next. I want it to be my shoulder, or at the very least my sleeve. But he throws the last one, and a hot, searing pain shoots through my ear for a split second, almost like a bad papercut or a shard of glass.

He cut me.

I have to blink back tears. "Points for bravery, stiff," Eric finally says, "but I'm not revoking your first strike." I didn't expect him to. I didn't flinch. This should be an achievement, yet I don't feel so proud of myself at all. Everyone disperses around the pit once again, and Four turns away from me.

I'm about to confront him about cutting me when Christina throws a rough punch at my shoulder, "what is wrong with you?" She asks, though I see the relief on her face. "You should have just let me stand there, instead of defying Eric—!"

"—I'm sorry," I automatically say, throwing my arms around her neck. She hugs me back, and starts chastising me for going against Eric the way I did. In a way, her scolding me makes me feel better. But I feel horrible, knowing that Four is also angry with me. "Um, I need to go," I say, pulling away from her.

She sighs, but nods and I run after him. He's heading into the back, probably to cool down but I have to talk to him.

I'm not angry about my ear, I don't think it even matters to me anymore the pain doesn't affect me. He stops just as he's about to turn the corner and I know it's because he hears me, "I'm sorry," I choke out, stopping just a few feet behind him.

His back is tense, his fists clenched at his sides, "Why did you do that, Tris?"

"I already got the speech from Christina," I tell him.

"Well maybe you need to hear it from me too," he says. I don't need too, but if yelling at me will get him to look at me then I suppose I'll just have to listen to it again. He lets out a loud sigh and turns to face me, "You don't know how that scared me... are you alright?"

"It's just a cut," I reply, shaking my head. It's throbbing but that's the least of my problems, I am still stuck on his words. _You don't know how that scared me..._

"At least let me clean it," Four offers. I'm reluctant, since I don't need it to be treated. But I want to be on his good side, so I nod and follow him further down the hall. We end up heading up a few flights of stairs. I didn't even know there was more stories to this place. There's a door just at the end, and when we step inside it's warm. Warmer than the underground air in the main room.

It looks almost like an apartment, "do you live here?" I ask, glancing around. I see why they prefer people to stay out of the hallways now. There's a bed on the opposite side of the room, and behind it are windows that look out above the city. I don't notice that I've stepped farther into the room until I hear his voice.

"Yes," he answers briskly. I take a step back, but keep my gaze on the window. It's beautiful, the view that he has. It suddenly plants an image in my mind of him, when he can't sleep, if he just stares out this window late at night, or early in the morning.

Four disappears from the room, and I hear the sound of water running. When he returns, he has a metal bowl filled with water and rag soaking in it. He steps closer to me, and lightly grabs my shoulders. He has me sit down on his bed, and I make myself sit on the edge.

He sits beside me, and brushes my hair away from my neck; his rugged fingertips tickle my skin and I can feel his slow and even breaths as they crash over me. I try not to move, I'm so anxious that I'm afraid I'll start to fall apart if I let myself relax.

He squeezes water from the rag, and holds my head still with his other hand. The blood has trickled down my ear, and some of it has stained the skin on my collarbone. Some clings to my shirt. Four presses the rag to my ear, and I wince at the cold. He has to scrub a little to get the blood that's started to dry but he manages to clean it all off.

He starts on the blood that's on my neck. I can feel his gaze, focused yet distracted as he works. I wonder what he's thinking. I know I'm an idiot, technically I did this to myself, "I'm sorry," I say again. It comes out like a choked whisper, this room is so quiet.

Four sighs and then stands, taking the bowl with him back to the other room. I can hear him dumping the water out into the sink, with the wet slap of the rag hitting the counter. I don't want him to be angry with me, and though he doesn't look like he is anymore I can tell he still feels unsettled about what he had to do tonight.

Four stands in what looks like the kitchen, his arms supporting his weight as he leans against the counter. We remain silent for another couple of minutes, before he finally looks at me and says, "I think I should get you back to your friends for tonight."

I am sad, I don't want to leave just yet. However, I don't argue with him. He follows me out of the apartment, his hand on the small of my back as I pass him. We return to the pit, the noise filling the air around us.

"Goodnight, Tris," Four says.

"Goodnight," I reply quietly. I can feel my teeth biting down on my lip. We stand there awkwardly for a few seconds, before Four gives me a small smile and heads back down the hallway, away from me.

 **xXxXx**

It's been about two weeks since my last visit to the pit. My ear has healed for the most part, the scar is still visible. Everytime Christina has asked if I was going with her and the others I would make up a lie about some school work – I'm pretty sure she knows I've been lying, but I'm not sure what to do. I'm afraid of Four still being unhappy with me. Now that I rethink what happened, I was being a little careless. But I couldn't watch it play out with Christina as the target.

I'm sitting at the end of my bed, finishing school work when Christina and Will walk into the room. "Hey, we missed you at lunch... _again_ ," Christina says, plopping down onto her bed. Will sits beside her, so I shove my work onto the floor with a sigh.

"Yeah sorry, I'm just behind," I reply. It's only Saturday, so I have the whole weekend to work on it but it keeps me busy. They've gone to the pit without me for the last few nights, although it doesn't seem like I've really missed much anyway.

"Are you gonna go with us tonight?" She asks, begging me with a sad expression. I want to go, but at the same time I'd rather not. I keep thinking about the incident; it won't stop replaying on my mind, the glare from Four, the aftermath... Four may have cooled down a little since the last time I saw him but I still don't think I'm ready to face him.

I feel _strange_ around him. I don't think I am afraid to face him because of what happened, I think I am afraid to face him because I'll feel something I'm not ready for.

"I don't know," I say quietly. Christina sighs.

"What happened?" I know I should tell her, and so I decide to. I don't have anything to lose, they know I disappeared with him that night. They both listen as I tell them about going after him to apologize, and then going to his apartment so he could treat the wound. When I finish, they're staring at me but Christina's face is the first one to break into a grin.

"Four never brings anyone into his apartment," she says almost high-pitched, "maybe Zeke since they're best friends but he's never, ever brought a female there! What did it look like inside?"

"Well you all said he doesn't have much friends," I point out, "he couldn't exactly take care of my cut in the middle of a hallway." Christina rolls her eyes at me, clapping her hands excitedly. I bury my face into my pillow, letting out a large groan so she knows I'm annoyed.

"I'm gonna leave you two to talk," Will says, standing up. He's enjoying my suffering. _Traitor_. Isn't he worried she's a little obsessed with what Four does or doesn't do? I can't ask him because the moment he leaves Christina bursts into million questions.

"I can't understand you!" I say, cutting her off. She's tripped over her words almost ten times in five seconds. Christina waves me off and kneels on the edge of her bed.

"Well what was his apartment like? Start there," Christina says. _How could I forget it?_ Despite how small it seemed, it was comfortable.

"Warm," it's the first thing I think of, and my face heats up. "Uh, it was a decent size area. His bed was by this huge window that looked over the city." I get that mental picture of him again, the one where he's looking out at all the lights and I smile.

"That sounds amazing!" Christina comments. She's biting her lip like she has something to confess, but asks, "did you guys talk about anything?"

"No," I say, a little too sadly, "he just cleaned my cut." My fingers automatically touch it; it's been healing nicely, the sting has gone away.

"Come with us to the pit tonight," Christina says again, she grabs my hands and squeezes them lightly. "Maybe he'll be okay. Actually... I'm positive he will be."

 _Maybe_ is a strong word, despite its lack of reassurance given the situation. But I agree to go anyway. I don't necessarily have to talk to him, especially if he's still a little uneasy. She never said I had to try and talk to him.

 **xXxXx**

Christina sets out a pair of black jeans with double zippers at the top, with a plain white t-shirt that clings to my torso and waist, and a black jacket with leather triangles fitting in like mosaic pieces. Where she gets these clothes, I'll never know, but they're comfortable to move around in.

She lets me keep my hair down, but offers to do my eyes for me. I let her, and we're ready to go.

We don't jump down to the net this time, instead we go through a door on one of the outer buildings that's just a little farther from where we usually enter. It's dim in the corridor, lit only by blue lights that are spread out quite far from each other, and it's cold.

I don't imagine myself using this passage too often; I'm glad Christina knows where to go at least, because we eventually get to the pit. Like always, it's packed full with people but by the looks of it, more so than usual.

I wonder what Eric has planned.

I try to keep my eyes from wandering, but I know exactly who I'm searching for. _Four_. I can feel him staring at me, but I don't know where he is; or I'm just paranoid of running into him, which should not be the case since he's usually not hanging around the main area.

" _Tris!_ " A pair of arms lifts me from the ground. I'm too stunned to scream, but when I look at who's holding me I start laughing; I can't tell if it's from fright or relief. Uriah holds me, shaking me, "where have you been? Hiding on us, huh?"

"Something like that," I say as he sets me down.

"Well you're here now, that's all that matters," Uriah grins.

For most of the night, I stick around Christina, Will, Al, or Uriah without seeing a glimpse of Four anywhere. Maybe he wasn't around tonight. I don't care, or at least that's what I keep telling myself. I know that the others will be staying a while longer, so I tell Uriah that I'm heading back early.

Except I don't head back to the school, not right away. I head for the fairgrounds; it's quiet, and now the dark shields me pretty easily. The Ferris Wheel still stands, taller up close, but it looks sad without its thousands of lights. I pick up little rocks on my way to it, not exactly sure what I intend to do with them.

Something makes me search the area around me before I step on the first rung of the ladder. I climb up to the first landing, one of the cars is blocking me from sight, so I don't worry about being seen. I sit down, turning the stones around in my hand.

I toss the first rock, listening for the light thud against the dirt; when I hear it, I toss another one down. I don't know why I'm here, maybe to recollect my thoughts and figure out what to say to Four. The wind is noisy in my ears, being this high up, so it keeps the thoughts at bay.

I'm not sure I have anything to say to him; I apologized. I was hoping he would say something else, but he never did. I'm at my last rock; it's a materialistic thought, not wanting to throw this one because it's the last one I have. There's nothing special about it at all. It's smooth in my palms, but it's nothing more than a grey, dusty rock.

"I thought it was you up there," I recognize that voice too well – _Four_ , who's craning his neck to look up at me. _Did he follow me?_ I'm not as observant as I thought then, because I never once noticed him if he did.

"How did you find me?"

"You're not the only person who hides around the fairgrounds when they're sulking," he answers. I stand up and walk to the other side of the car to get a better look at him. He's watching me, looking a little anxious as I almost lose my balance. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, with the collar of his jacket pulled up around his neck.

"I'm not sulking," I retort defensively, sitting back down. I don't plan on getting down, not with him here. I'm finding it easier to talk to him when I can avert my eyes elsewhere. Four laughs, shaking his head.

"You're the only person I know who's crazy enough to climb a death trap, you know," he says after a moment. Funny he should notice anything about me, since he's always hiding. But he's serious then, all humor gone. It's one thing – maybe the only thing – I've truly noticed about him. How he can be nice and teasing and then instantly serious. "Can I talk to you for a second?" He asks, sounding like a child who's just been scolded. I bite my lip; _can I talk to you_ is always one of those talks you never want to have but know it needs to be said.

I'm not sure how I should feel; terrified because I don't know what to expect, or grateful because he finally has something to say to me other than silence.

"You have to come up here," I say. He's staring at me. Thinking about what I just said. I don't clearly catch what he mutters, but I know it wasn't a civilized phrase.

"You don't make anything easy, I'm finding," Four says, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. When he lets his hands drop back to his sides, he glances up at me, almost pleading. And I realize then, that he's afraid to come up here.

"You're afraid of heights," I say. I watch some of the strength, the tension, leave his shoulders. That explains why he didn't go zip lining with us the other night.

"Everyone's afraid of something, Tris." I can't argue with him, not when he makes a good point. I didn't think he was afraid of anything. He's so glorified by my friends, that his confession now makes me realize he's just human. I suddenly realize how much I don't care about the titles he's given, in a way, we're similar.

"Come up here." He doesn't move from where he's standing. I see him shaking his head, and I'm prepared to stand up and meet him down there when he reluctantly walks towards the ladder. I watch as his knuckles turn whiter the higher he climbs. I actually feel proud of him.

The ladder creaks beneath him; it didn't for me, but he must be putting more weight on them. I can hear a string of swears coming from him the closer he gets. I try to hide my grin.

He's almost at the landing, so I reach my hand out, holding onto one of the poles so I don't lose my balance. He goes to grab the last rung, and his fingers graze mine. There's a jolt, like he shocked me and maybe he did since it's colder at night, but my heart speeds up a little.

Four wraps his fingers around my waiting palm and gets up, standing directly in front of me now. He's sweating – I didn't think his fear was this bad. He won't even look down, but he tries to glance around. He eyes the skyline, and the lights, but his eyes return to my face and stay there. "That wasn't so bad," I say, smiling a little. He gives me a look that tells me otherwise, but doesn't comment on it. "So...you wanted to talk to me?"

He nods, sucking in a breath. His eyes catch the sight of the ground and then shoot back up to me. "I'm pretty sure you know why... the other night..." Four says, a little breathless from the climb. I nod. "You didn't have to apologize... I understand, now, why you did it."

This catches me off guard. I don't know what he means, "you were angry."

"I wasn't angry with you," he sighs, "not really. Not while you were in my apartment. I was more upset that I had to hurt you just to end that whole thing."

"But you wouldn't talk to me," I say, almost sadly.

"I didn't know what to say," Four replies quietly, "honestly... I stabbed you in the ear, and we were both pretty pissed at that situation. What exactly could I have said to have made anything better?"

"You could have said you weren't angry with me."

"If I had been angry with you, I would have left you standing at that target. I wouldn't have brought you back to my apartment to clean your cut—,"

"—Well I'm not a mind reader, Four!" I say a little harsher than intended. He sighs loudly, but he sounds like he's closer to me, like his lips are at my ear.

"You're right," he says calmly, after a long moment. I look back at him; every time I expect him to yell he doesn't. I find myself disappointed again. I want a better reaction from him, but he's giving me nothing. "You're not."

"I honestly wish you would just yell at me already," I say, holding his gaze this time.

"Why would you say that?" He asks, "I don't want to yell at you."

"I think I'd feel better if you did," I mutter, more to myself than to him but I know he heard me. Four rolls his eyes.

"I think you're driving yourself crazy," he answers, "for the last two weeks you've avoided the pit, you've barely looked at me since I got here... did you think I would stay mad at you this long?"

"You would barely talk to me after it happened," I say again, sounding helpless.

"I didn't know what to say," Four makes me look at him, grabbing my shoulders and lifting my chin up, "I didn't know if I should apologize for being angry with you, for catching your ear... I knew I should have apologized for something. There were so many things wrong—unnecessary and unordinary about it. When you kept apologizing, I was no longer mad at you, Tris. I just wanted you to stop feeling sorry... I started to understand why you did it."

"You could have just said that," I reply. He laughs a little, shaking his head.

"I could have. Okay? But I didn't. And when I brought you back to my apartment, all I could think about was 'is there some way to take this back' like that would have somehow made your ear stop bleeding. Like it would have somehow made me less angry with myself for snapping at you, or for hurting you..."

"You had to know I wasn't just going to watch Christina stand there..."

"Yeah, well I would have preferred it to be anyone but you," he says. I remember just standing in front of the target... his eyes never left mine, and somehow that silent connection just made me trust him. That he wasn't going to hurt me – at least not intentionally. "Do you feel better now?"

"A little," I answer, chewing on my lip. I feel cold, the wind has picked up.

"Can we get down now?" Four asks. This time I laugh, and with a nod we start down the ladder together.

 **xXxXx**

 _Tobias Eaton's POV_

By the time I get down to the pit the next day, my back is in more pain from the recent ink session, and Eric is already waiting for me, "you looked pretty intimidating with the stiff... didn't know the rules were so funny."

 _Shit_.

Not what I wanted to walk into. _Of course he saw that_.

 _Of course he did_. Subtle, I am not.

But what I don't understand, is why Eric would wait until it was just the two of us to chastise me. He likes making spectacles of people, without an audience, what's his point?

I don't think too much longer on that, however, because I'm too busy thinking about what that now means: I've definitely just made Tris a person of interest to him. He's gonna watch her like a hawk and wait for the moment she messes up. She's got a strike... And if he gets what he wants from this conversation, then I'd say she'll be at two before she even knows it.

The thing about the pit is it's a hangout, a club even. Except nobody pays to get in, you just fit in with black clothing, tattoos, or piercings. The only thing visitors pay for is the alcohol, or the tattoos, piercings. We have plenty of tattoo and piercing shops associated within the pit, it's how most of us make our money to live here. Tori is one of our best tattoo artists. Zeke and I, and sometimes Eric and Tori, stay up in security and review footage and we lay down rules that visitors have to follow. Others work at the bars, some we appoint to patrol the hallways if bigger events are taking place. Max runs the entire building, he is the owner.

"I explained the rules to her," it's amazing how smoothly I can lie to Eric. However, Eric hates me, so I already know that even if I were telling truth, he still wouldn't believe a word I just said. So it really doesn't matter what I say to him. He'll take it, he just won't believe it.

Eric scoffs, "And got pretty friendly with her right after? Yeah, right. Because every time I beat the rules into a stiff's mind, we become great friends afterwards." I almost laugh. He's the coldest bastard – second to my father – that I've ever met. So even just hearing the words 'great friends' come out of his mouth is pretty hilarious.

"Yeah, well luckily for her I don't physically beat the rules into people," I say, stepping around him. I've got to get away from him, "nor do I make rules up whenever I please, or break them, or choose not to reinforce them myself." Talking to him is like getting thrown into an ice cold bath, and then being held under the surface to numbly struggle through more of the torture.

My hands are itching to hit something, so I head to the training room to bust my knuckles up more.

Eric doesn't usually scare me. I try not to be afraid of him but I know how smart he is. And as disgusted as I am to admit that, Eric is very smart. He's deadly smart. And whether I always was from the beginning, or I somehow put myself there, I am one of his targets. But I put up with it, because – especially now – I'd rather it be me he watches than Tris.

If I screw up, I can take the consequences. But Tris is innocent, and she doesn't need to carry the burden that he is.

I've already rescued her once from him, I don't want to make a habit out of it. There's something about her, I don't know what, but it's got my attention. And I will only allow myself once, to admit that I am attracted to her in some unexplainable way. The best I can do is warn her, because if I constantly get involved with her, like she's a damsel in distress, then Eric will know something is up – and it will be my undoing.

 **xXxXx**

It's not even late and I've already got a strong buzz kicking in. Maybe it's because of that whole conversation with Eric earlier, or maybe because I've just been so uptight this week.

Either way, I'm pretty sure it's only eight and I'm gonna have a splitting headache tomorrow morning if I keep drinking. I've been listening, or trying to listen, to Zeke and Uriah; they've been bickering about who's going first on the zip line for well over an hour now.

I don't plan on joining them, but they already know this.

Uriah heads in the other direction, practically sprinting. I turn back to Zeke, "so, aside from being antisocial tonight, does the Legendary Four have something to do? A girl to talk to, maybe?"

"Not likely, Zeke," I say, finishing the rest of my drink, "I'm probably not going to be hanging around here tonight. So when you get back, do me a favor...don't come and search me out to tell me how you almost pitched somebody off the roof because they weren't settled in properly." Zeke bursts out laughing.

"Don't be surprised if I ever try to pitch you off a building," he says, punching my arm. At that, I laugh because I forget what my fears are, for just a moment. Uriah is calling Zeke, which tells me everyone is ready to go.

Then I see her.

 _Tris_. Alcohol couldn't make me forget her. She is already looking at me and I wonder how long she's been doing that, but she smiles. I return her wave with a nod, and smile back. I'm more confident, which probably makes me seem a little arrogant. She doesn't look away.

She looks _good_. Not just pretty, but a little stunning. Definitely different, she looks older. And she's wearing black— I feel warm all over, and I can't tell if it's from the way she looks, the alcohol, or both. I like black on her.

Her hair is down, with gold framing her face, making it look a little longer. The sweater she's wearing makes her look softer, clutching at her thin waist. But the jeans... they're tight around her thin legs. The straps wrapping around her thighs, and her calves, they make her legs look longer, she actually looks a little taller from here.

I can see the curves of her body; they looks soft. My eyes graze up, and the thoughts swarm me— _stop it_. A have to stop myself from thinking about her in anyway uncontrolled. She's younger than me, still in school; even if I wanted to...if _she_ wanted to... I don't know if I could allow it.

I don't realize that Zeke is trying to get my attention at first, until he asks, "you sure you don't want to join us?" He noticed. He knows who I am staring at. I shake my head.

"No, I'm perfectly fine on solid ground," I answer.

"Suit yourself."

 **xXxXx**

As I wait for Zeke and the others to return, I spend most of the night, hazily, watching fights. I don't usually find them entertaining anymore, but they make the time pass. Eventually I decide to retire for the night out by the net, where it's quiet.

I don't even know what time it is when I notice the first body to hit the net. It's Zeke. He jumps down, grinning from ear to ear; I step out of the shadows and join him for the other jumpers.

The last person to come down is Tris. She would look just as thrilled and flushed as she did the first time she jumped, except she looks... I can't even explain how she looks now. Maybe the happiest I've ever seen her. I smile, and I know it's not the alcohol's help this time.

I reach up and pull her out of the net. Her fingers grip into my shoulders, sending sparks through me. Looking at her is like waking up, and it leaves me breathless, "I can tell they gave you the full run."

Tris laughs, and all the color in her face returns. I can't tell if she's blushing, or if it's from laughing but she looks beautiful. Our moment ends when I'm called over by Zeke. I make sure she can stand on her own, before I let go of her waist and leave her with her friends.

"How was it?" I ask, stopping just a few feet in front of him. Shauna comes up beside me, her hair won't lay flat because of the wind-tossed knots, and she's grinning from ear to ear.

"Scary as hell," Shauna replies, "like always."

"Not that you would know, you _pansycake_." Zeke smirks. I know I've sobered up quite a bit, but I'm still sluggish because I don't register that he's hit my shoulder as hard as he did until it begins to throb.

"How did the stiff do?" Calling her _stiff_ is like an insult, since she looks anything but, now. I steal another glimpse at her direction, and see that Uriah has thrown her over his shoulder and the cup she was holding is now on the ground, forgotten.

Zeke doesn't respond. I turn my head back to him to see that he and Shauna are sharing a look. A little too knowing, by the looks of it, "What?" I ask.

"You just asked us how the zip lining went..." Shauna replies. I shrug, trying to act like it was casual. When in fact, it was anything but, "you never ask how zip lining goes."

"Does the Legendary Four have a thing for the stiff?" Zeke teases, elbowing me in the ribs. I could lie and blame it on the alcohol, but I'm sober enough to stand still on two feet so I know it wouldn't get past them. To tell them the truth, however, would mean they'd never get off my back until I asked her out or until I offended her and she never spoke to me again.

"No, I just want to know," I'm a liar.

"Sure," Zeke says, "she didn't even scream out of fear. Kind of a disappointing reaction."

"Yeah, maybe she oughta see you up there," Shauna kids, throwing an arm around my shoulder.

"Ha ha," I mutter, shaking my head at them. "Like you would ever get me to go up there."

Zeke and Shauna head to the bar area, I wish them a goodnight and head to my apartment to try and sleep off the rest of my buzz. I strip out of my clothes and into a pair of sweatpants, getting under the covers. I never used to sleep on my stomach until my father thought I was old enough to take serious punishment. I often try not to think of him, or what he did to me but it's not always that easy to block the thoughts out.

Over the years of endless torture, sleeping on my stomach became comfortable when I couldn't sleep on my back. Sleeping without a shirt on became quite normal too, when the wiry cotton would rub into my wounds too much.

My most helpless of days.

I've become so different... _stronger_ , yet the memories will never cease to make me cringe, or even cry. I get angry at how little he made me feel. How I used to cower and face the wall, gripping the dresser with white knuckles as I waited for him to return with whatever he chose to hit me with that night. I never even bothered with a brave face, I let the tears out. I had always hoped my father would see me crying, and stop. But he never did.

How I would lose count of how many times he hit me, belt or not, and have to bite my knuckles to hold back screams. Or when the pain got to be too much, I would scream into my arms. And when he finally left my room, I would sink to the ground and lay on my side and stare at the grey carpet.

My father never walked back into my room after he was done. So I could lay on that floor for hours, broken. I would try to keep my sobbing quiet. I didn't need him to come back in and start again because I was disturbing his sleep.

It was never for my own good; I've seen what power does to people. I know it was because he had the most of it. No matter if I reached eye level with him at sixteen, he always looked down on me before and after that. And I was never allowed to talk back, or lie, or fight back.

Now, I'm a leader. That may not mean much to him, but I don't take power in the same way he does. I don't claim it, if I could I think I would run from it. I'm scared it'll make me just like him. That with enough power, I'll become the monster I've always feared. And I don't want that, I never want that. I am Tobias Eaton, Legendary Four here. Around here where they only know my alias, I am not the son of Marcus and Evelyn Eaton; I am not born into a broken family; I do not have one, as far as they know.

That's the only downside to living alone; my thoughts have time to resurface.

 **xXxXx**

Tori finishes up, putting the needle down on the tray beside me. She backs up from me to observe it. I can see her nod of approval from the corner of my eye. I can only see part of it over my shoulder, but I like it.

I don't need to see it. I just need to know it's there.

"It's a shame that'll be covered up every single day," Tori says, shaking her head, "I think it's one of my best, yet."

"Well I don't plan on walking around without a shirt on," I say, straightening up, "but maybe someone will get very lucky to see the work you did."

"Are we talking about anyone specific? Or is this just some 'in the future', 'near future' maybe, thing?" I was always fascinated by how blunt, and specific she is.

"Maybe 'in the future', type," I answer. I can tell she wants to press for questions, but she knows that if she does the only thing she's getting from me is vague answers. In a way, since I've been here, Tori has been like a sister to me. She understands my ways, and respects them, even if they nag at her.

When I leave, I relish the final stinging, prickling all over my back. My tattoo has meaning, significant to me but also a feeling of finally getting some rebellion against my father. Because it was my decision.

But instead of thinking too much about that, I head down to meet Zeke for some practice. He's already at a punching bag, consistent with his punches, never missing. There's a thick sheen of sweat covering his forehead, arms, and back, making me wonder how long he's been here already.

"I take it you didn't bother to wait for me," I say, approaching him. He stops and turns to face me, grinning.

"You were taking forever," he says, "I just assumed you were gonna oversleep."

"I've been up since five," I say, glancing at the clock across the room. It's eight.

"So have I," Zeke says, "but I've been down here since then."

"I was with Tori, she was finishing my tattoo," I reply, grabbing the roll of tape off the table. I wrap it around my black and blue knuckles, which look more purple now, and stop in front of a bag. I position myself, and take the first swing.

 _Pain_. That's what I feel throughout my whole hand; I keep going.

"Ah, so you finally got one?" Zeke asks. I nod, breathing between each punch. "What'd you get?"

"That's for me to know," I say. Zeke rolls his eyes.

"Okay, _whatever_... where, then?"

"On my back."

"But you can't see it," he says.

"Don't need to." I keep punching. I can feel sweat starting to drip down my face and neck and back, so I pull back to stop for a moment.

"Since you won't tell me, can I at least see it?" I'm reluctant, but Zeke has always been my friend. He's never forced me, or pestered me, for answers when I didn't want to give them. He never even questioned what I came from. After a minute, I sigh and grip the top of my shirt and pull it up over my head.

"Holy shit," Zeke says, then laughs, "that is the biggest tattoo I have ever seen! That's sick!"

"So, has my tattoo passed?"

"I believe so," he replies, as I put my shirt back on. We start punching again, but Zeke stops halfway through and watches me.

"What?"

"Oh nothing," he says, like he knows a secret. _This can't be good_. I know I was drunk last night, but I doubt I said anything personal. Not even alcohol would make me bring up the darkest parts of me.

"What?" I ask again, more annoyed.

"Well, since you want to know," Zeke always has this way about making you nervous before he asks you what he wants to ask; I've been put under this scrutiny more times than I can remember. So I stop punching again and turn to face him, "...you asked about the stiff last night—,"

"—Not this again!" I should have known he wasn't gonna drop the subject completely.

"Well," Zeke looks amused; of course he does, this is my discomfort, "do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Have a thing for her?" If it's this obvious to him, I don't even want to think how Eric sees it. I sigh.

"Does it matter?" I ask.

"Dude, come on! Of course it matters! You've barely even glanced at a girl since I've met you three years ago. I mean, you've gone on dates—,"

"—that you set up," I remind him. He waves me off and continues.

"—but you've never actually pined after one." He's right. I don't have anything to say to him though. "If you actually like this girl—God, help her—," he's joking, but still I grin, "—then shouldn't you do something about that?"

"I don't know," I say, "I barely even know her."

"There's plenty of time for that," Zeke reassures.

"I am not asking her out," I shake my head, "not yet, anyways. But I will, at least, talk to her more, okay?" Zeke claps me on the back with a grin, and I wince at the stinging from the tattoo.

"That's the Legendary Four I know!"

 **xXxXx**

My eyes refuse to focus on one thing, and I know exactly why. Because I am searching for her. It's Saturday night, almost midnight in fact. If I haven't found her at any other point tonight, I doubt I will find her now. I wonder if maybe she went zip lining again, but Zeke is here so that's unlikely.

I decide to wait another couple of minutes before I head back to my apartment, but I finally see a gold-blond head walking through the crowd. _It's her_ — _she's here_.

It's been a few days since I've last seen her, or at least her friends around, and seeing her now makes me feel happy. I keep thinking about what Zeke said to me, and though he has a point, everything feels one-sided to me. I don't know if she even likes me.

I don't even notice, in that moment, that she's looked up. _At me_. Something brave inside of me makes me motion for her to come up, and when she points back at herself I have to smile, answering with a nod.

She's looking around, probably for the stairs, so I head toward them. When I meet her there all bravery is replaced by nerves. I still try to remain confident, "Hey."

Tris smiles, a little breathless and says, "Hi."

The first thing that comes to my mind is how she looks; I still remember how she looked the night of the zip line, "I didn't get a chance to ask you how the zip lining went."

Her eyes light up, "It was incredible. I'm looking forward to doing it again." I wrack my brain, trying to remember if Zeke had mentioned them going again, but he didn't.

"Are you going tonight?"

"Uh no," she says, shaking her head, "but Uriah said they plan to go again before winter." I nod. I still wonder if Zeke had it planned, or if it was only Uriah. "So why are we up here?" _Does she not want to be?_ I didn't really think about that, since her friends are down there and she's up here with me, all alone.

"Do you not want to be?" I ask. She shakes her head, and relief washes over me. At least she wants to be; she didn't lie to me when I offered, so I don't suspect she's lying now.

"No, I mean I like it up here," Tris says. I watch her fingers slide along the railings, they're thin and long, and the tendons stick out with every movement. The spaces look wide enough to fit mine, but I keep my hands in front of me, "I'm just surprised you want me up here with you."

I laugh, looking over the pit. "I brought you up here for two reasons," I say, stopping, "one, because the fights can get rough down there and you won't be able to see when everyone tries to get a better look. And two, because I want you up here."

"Okay," she replies. I can't help the smirk that curls at the corner of my mouth. Eric starts announcing the rules of the fight – they're not the same from when he and I first came to the pit. The rules he made up are fight until you can't, a.k.a. until you're bloody and bruised and can't stand back up, and second no one concedes, "they can't concede?"

I shake my head, "They used to be able to," when he and I were first chosen. I notice from the corner of my eye that she's looking at me, but I don't look at her. I'm afraid she'll see the anger in my eyes, the anger that reappears every time I think about that fight, "but since Eric has become the tyrant of this place nobody's allowed to concede."

"Can't you do something about it?" She asks. I shrug, _believe me I've tried_ I want to say. But I don't, I just take this moment to finally look at her. I feel the anger dissipate when I meet her eyes.

"I could, but Eric has more influence around here." _Untrue_. If I went to Max, he would do something about it. Eric just has more of a negative influence around here; I could just as easily run this place, but I refrain from trying to interfere with him. I just shake my head, "...and if people want to associate themselves with him, then they'll follow whatever rules he makes. I'd rather not further involve myself." I turn my head back down, instantly regretting it the moment I see Eric watching us. He doesn't look happy, but then again when does he ever?

 _Vulture_. I just glare back at him.

I know she's spotted Eric, but she turns back to me and says, "That's not fair, if there are three people in control." She's right, but nothing's fair here anymore.

"There used to be five of us," I reply. I expect to see her expression turn to one of confusion, but she looks oddly stoic. I see curiosity, but that's about it.

"What happened to the other two?" I look away.

Eric looks pissed; it's because the boy he was rooting for has lost. It's also because I've beaten him in something else, yet again. Working on being kind is difficult when you're not exactly that, and I grew up around a negative environment; I find amusement in his losings. I can't help but feel smug as I say, "Eric owes me ten bucks. Usually he's good at picking the skilled ones."

I steal another glance in her direction; she looks alert, watching the fight. I see something else in her features, and it registers with me that she's horrified how deadly still the boy that lost is. He's being dragged away like a ragdoll, "Eric got the other two to go against each other, claiming one was more useful in his position than the other. That caused an annoying argument between the two for weeks and eventually Tori and I got so fed up we told them just to go. Eric wouldn't even try that with Tori or me, thankfully, but that still doesn't stop him from trying to mess with me." _Or —now— you_. I think to myself. Her hair is down again, which I'm finding that I like very much.

Up here, in the glow of the white/blue lights her hair looks silver. The jacket she's wearing makes her shoulders look pointed and thin. I think black is her color. Her eyes look brighter too, maybe from just being here—the excitement— or the black lining her eyes. Either way, I can't really look away from her.

Eric keeps glaring, and I know I've just made my affections for her blaringly obviously. I know I've just made her an even bigger target but I'm selfish. I thought about it, trying to fall asleep last night, that I don't want to stay away from her. Regardless of Eric's constant watch.

"Why can't you or Tori do something about him?" _I wish it were that simple_. Except it's not. Despite Eric being highly unlikable, Max plays quite a bit of favoritism around here. And because Eric brings so much attention to the pit, the favoritism is namely towards him.

All I say is, "it's a complicated issue." She doesn't press for more, and turns back to watch as they carry the boy out. I watch her. She doesn't look as young as she did when I first met her. The next thing I tell her just slips out, "I have a question that's been bugging me for a few days now. Hopefully I don't offend you." Since I've offended every other girl I've ever talked to.

Something tells me she's different from all of them. She's waiting for me to say it, so I suck in a breath and ask, "how old are you?" Tris laughs, holding onto the railing.

"Sorry," she apologizes, exhaling, "I'm seventeen. I know... I look younger." The second flood of relief since I've talked to her tonight.

"You look seventeen," I say, after analyzing her features a little better. She looks beautiful, it's a shame she's not eighteen yet. I may not want to stay away from her anymore, but I want some limits between us for now. I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the fact that she was younger, though, because I assume she has no more practice than me at any of this due to that fact.

"Thanks to Christina," she says. I don't know what she means by that, _but thank you Christina_. She's silent, watching as they set up the next activity. I'm still watching her; I move a little closer to her, but I don't know if she's noticed. My fingers are close to hers on the railing, another inch or two and I could hold her fingers with mine.

"What is he doing now?" She looks intrigued. I inch my fingers just a little closer.

"Watch," I say, _so close now_.

The next activity is not something we do around here that often; despite it rendering useless, it's actually a cool thing to learn. I see Eric glancing up at us again, and this time he motions at us, but I know he's referring to me. He wants me to throw.

It takes me a moment to notice who's standing at the target; _it's Christina_. I look over at Tris, who looks more horrified now than when they dragged that boy away. I try to walk past her, because I don't want her to do anything stupid but she stops me, blocking my path.

"...wait, what is he doing?" I grab her shoulders and push her aside lightly. This situation is quickly bordering on nightmare.

"He's picked Christina as the target. I have to." I don't have to, actually. I could just walk away, but Eric could pick Tris next, and I don't want to find out that she's been impaled by a knife because they gave another idiot a pair of knives. If I get this done, at least Christina won't get nearly as hurt as she would if Eric was throwing.

I've seen what Eric can do. What he will do. Despite being on decent terms with her, Eric is ruthless. He enjoys the sight of blood.

" _Have to!? ...No, Four!_ " _Nightmare_. Before I can even grab her, she's sprinting towards the steps. She's faster than I thought she was, that's for sure.

"Tris!" I have to shout louder because everyone is either drunk, or just being boisterous, "Tris! Stop! TRIS!" She's about to step out into the clearing, towards Christina, but my fingers manage to grip the bottom of the shirt beneath her jacket. She stops, but unfortunately Eric has caught sight of us. I instantly let go of her shirt, and let my hand fall to my side, " _Shit!_ " This could not be any worse.

"What do you think you're doing stiff?" Eric demands, towering above her. His eyes flicker to me; there's a menacing glint to his expression. My jaw locks, tense, as I wait for the knowing result.

"I'm going to take her place," she says it with such confidence, but her hands are violently shaking at her sides. I'm _angry_ – at her, at Eric... at myself. There is no way out of this. Either I throw the knives at Christina, and Tris hates me. Or I now throw the knives at Tris and risk hurting her. Or _worse_... Tris takes Christina's place and I walk away, and that leaves Eric to throw them at her.

I protest, "Tris, you don't know what you'r—,"

"—I'll be the target."

"Same rules apply then," Eric smirks, "You flinch, and it's your second strike." Eric turns to me, smirking, "Do the honors, Four?" Malicious bastard. I'm glaring at Tris as she stands in front of the target.

I can't pull my eyes away from her. Pleading with her isn't working, and it wouldn't now. Eric would call me out on it if I told her to just walk away now. Eric is just as great with a knife as I am. So why he makes me throw is beyond me, he knows I don't have a sadistic streak in me.

I take the knives from Eric's hand and turn the first one over in my hand. The feel of the metal is too heavy right now. I know I won't miss my intended targets, but I only have four chances. I need to find a way to hurt her without really hurting her.

Tris releases a breath and a shudder goes through her body. I position myself, breathing in. She's about to close her eyes, so I exhale and throw. Her eyes stay open, watching me. It landed just by her arm, sticking out of the wood.

"You can do better," Eric says, loud enough for me to hear. I turn back to her and notice her eyes are closed. I wonder if she's as frustrated as I am, or if it's just me. I don't want to hurt her, but I know I'll have to with Eric watching. He knows I can do better. _I need to go for the least harmful way possible..._

"Eyes open." I'm harsher than I mean to be, but still her eyes flutter open on me as I release the second knife. It's much closer to her than I intended; The knife is only a few inches from her neck. A distracted throw. I need to focus or I'll seriously hurt her.

"You can get closer," Eric mutters, irritably.

"You want me to take a little off the top?" I ask. I want to throw Eric off our trail but it may already be too late for that. Although Eric enjoys my question, he smiles with content.

"Yeah, maybe just a little." He's smug. I go again, exhaling and throwing. This time, I catch just above her head. The part in her hair looks like it could be from the knife, but I'm relieved it's not. That was too close, but I'm down to my last knife so I need to get closer if I don't want another set of knives handed to me.

I see the tip of her ear through her hair; the fast-healing cartilage. I could aim there, it would be like getting a piercing but it wouldn't hurt as bad as catching her somewhere else. I release the last knife, watching as her eyes flinch but not her body. She did it. All the tension leaves my body; I felt like a wire that was wound too tight, ready to snap.

"Points for bravery stiff," Eric says, just as her fingers graze the cut. There are tears in her eyes, I can see them glistening from where I'm standing, "but I'm not revoking your first strike." _Of course not_. That's the final activity for tonight, so everyone scatters around the pit again but I turn away.

I'm tempted to go back to my apartment and hit something; or scream. Yet my body feels deadly calm—I'm tired. I don't turn back around, I head for the back. I'm not angry at her anymore, not really. I'm more angry that she didn't flinch—she could have ended it right there at the first throw if she flinched, even if it meant a second strike. I'm finding that she's tougher than she looks; she wants to prove herself.

I hear footsteps—undoubtedly, hers—and I stop just before I turn the corner. I hear her come to a stop behind me, "I'm sorry," she says quietly. I tense up again— _why is she apologizing?_ I hurt her.

"Why did you do that, Tris?"

"I already got the speech from Christina," she retorts. She doesn't sound angry, but she does sound hurt.

"Well maybe you need to hear it from me too," I snap. I have to remind myself to calm down. I am angry, but not just at her. I can't take it all out on her. I turn to face her, and with a sigh I ask, "are you alright?"

"It's just a cut," she replies, shaking her head. It may be just a cut, but I caused it when it could have been avoided. _I threw knives at her for God's sake!_

"At least let me clean it," It's not a question. She hesitates, but nods. We head up a few flights of stairs, with her following shortly after me. My apartment is at the furthest end of the hallway, and when we enter the room is warmer than usual. Maybe I'm just nervous because she's one of the only people I've ever allowed in.

"Do you live here?" she asks, glancing around the small space. Her eyes linger at the window, and they soften. She's thinking of something, but I don't feel the need to ask about it right now.

"Yes," I answer. She moves closer to my bed, to look out the window. I take this as my chance to get into the bathroom and grab what I need to clean her cut. I grab a rag and turn the faucet on to wet it. I fill the bowl I grabbed off the counter with warm water, and throw the rag in to soak.

I steps closer to her, placing the bowl on the side table. I grab onto her shoulders and have her sit down on the mattress. She sits on the edge, like she's ready to get up at any second. It reminds me of when my mother did the same thing around my father.

 _Is she afraid of me?_

I sit beside her, and brush her hair away from her neck; her skin is soft, and I have to remember to breathe.

I grab the bowl and set it between us on the bed. I pick the rag up and wring the water out. I hold her head still, but the selfish part of me tells me it's just so I can touch her again, without scaring her. I press the rag to her ear, lightly wiping at the blood that's begun to dry on her skin. She winces beneath my fingers.

We're silent, and I don't try to speak because I don't know what to say. So I start on the blood that's dripped down to her collarbone. I wonder what she's thinking. She turns her head slightly, to look at me for a moment, before whispering, "I'm sorry." Her voice echoes.

I sigh and stand up, taking the bowl with me back to the other room. I dump the water out into the sink, and throw the rag onto the counter with a wet slap. I'm not angry with her, but I'm not sure how to say that without my voice wavering.

I stand in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as I gather my thoughts. We remain silent for few minutes. I don't want her to go, I would much rather she stay here with me tonight, but I know that's wrong. I look across the room at her, her eyes meeting mine. "I think I should get you back to your friends for tonight," I finally decide. I can see her fingers curl around the fabric of my blanket as I suggest she should go. _Believe me, I don't want you to go either_ , I think to myself, _if only I could keep her by my side tonight_.

She doesn't argue with me. I am a little disappointed, but relieved at the same time. I find more and more excuses to touch her; my hand rests on the small of her back as I walk her back to the pit. The noise is so much as once, Tris stops to look at me for a moment. Her eyes look upset, and for a moment I believe she could feel the same way as me.

"Goodnight, Tris," I say softly.

"Goodnight," she replies. She bites her lip and it takes everything in me not to hold her chin in place and kiss her right there. Everything she does makes my feelings stronger. I don't know how she affected me so quickly, but I don't know how much longer I can go on holding back.

Instead, I offer her a small smile and head back to my apartment before I make a fool out of myself anymore.

 **xXxXx**

I have noticed Tris's absence from the pit as extended well over a week or two, now. I see her friends around, but never her. For the first few nights I let it go, I thought maybe she needed some time away but now I'm starting to fear she's refusing to join them because of me. I don't realize my hands are bleeding until Zeke grabs the bag and holds it away from my reach.

"You've been sulking for nearly two weeks straight," Zeke says to me, "I'm surprised you haven't lashed out at Eric. He seems to be going out of his way, making up more excuses than usual just to get under your skin." He is referring to Eric's taunting since that night; Eric has just felt the need to ask me if I've seen Tris around, if she's happened to sneak past us all into the halls again. I've successfully ignored him, much to my own surprise.

"When isn't he?" I asked through gritted teeth; my knuckles are beyond bruised—I wouldn't be surprised if they were sprained. They're numb, which is the only thing keeping me going at the moment.

It took me about two days to realize why Tris did what she did when she took Christina's place–I was angry because I was frustrated, I hurt her, and then left her after I walked her back. I'm more frustrated now just because she hasn't been around these last two weeks.

Zeke doesn't talk again until I stop to take a break, "did you offend her?"

"What?"

He rolls his eyes like his question was obvious, "The stiff. Did you offend her?"

"I didn't offend her!" I mutter, frowning.

"So throwing knives at her head scared her off?"

"I didn't scare her off," though he's probably right. I just don't want to admit that possibility to myself.

"Well that grey cloud over your head tells me something happened."

"What do you want me to say?" I ask. "Eric would have thrown them at her himself if I backed down—and God knows he wouldn't have just nicked her ear." Zeke nods, but there's no sympathy in his expression, thankfully.

"So...did you guys have an argument?"

"Not exactly," I sigh, "I just need to talk to her but I haven't seen her."

"She spends time with my brother," he says, "and Marlene and Lynn. Just give it some more time, and eventually she'll be back." I nod, but I'm not so sure. She's stayed away for two weeks, something tells me she could go a lot longer. It's Zeke's night to watch the security cameras–technically it's a leader's job, but since Tori prefers working with tattoos and Eric likes hanging around the main area, it's his job. I have a break tonight. Occasionally, if there's nothing for me to do on my nights off I join him, which I have been for the last couple of nights. Tonight might just be another trip. I sigh and turn back to the bags, shaking my hands out before going again.

 **xXxXx**

I never actually pay attention when Zeke's running the cameras, but he's been especially obnoxious with them tonight—switching between screens every couple of seconds. "Is there something you're looking for?" I ask him irritably, snatching the control pad from him.

"Hey—!" He tries to grab it back but I hold it far enough away from him; he looks tempted to jump me for it, but other than that he sits still with an outstretched hand. "Give me that back."

"Are you even watching them? Or are you just having fun screwing around with them?"

"Damn, you're just fun to work with you're pissed off," Zeke mutters, trying again. I hold it even further back, turning the chair with me. "Can't you just go find her and talk to her? You went to the same school...for three years, might I add."

"I'm not gonna search her out," I sigh, "that's a little creepy. Besides, I didn't go to school with her."

Zeke shakes his head, sighing loudly, "can I have that back now? I promise, I'll actually watch the damn screens this time." I don't believe him, but my arm is getting tired of playing keep-away so I hand it back to him and turn back to the screens in front of me. They begin to change quickly, and this time I know he's doing it on purpose.

A camera in the farthest part of the compound speeds by the screen a few times—it's hardly ever useful since nobody enters in that way unless they're heading to the apartments from the outside. But I notice, in the seconds that I'm given, that the door is open and there are people entering. "Hold on, back it up," I say to Zeke. Reluctantly, Zeke does.

"Are you sure it's not someone entering the apartments?" He asks, sounding bored. I wave him off and lean in closer to see better; that hallways barely ever lit properly, it makes it harder to see properly. But I do see, as Zeke pulls up a different camera in the hall. I see Christina first, and then her. _Tris_. I think my heart actually skips a beat—which scares me that she has that effect on me. " _How the hell—?_ Do you have some sixth sense for her or something?" Zeke looks as stunned as I am, but I laugh.

"No, I just actually watch the camera footage," I retort. Zeke rolls his eyes and switches the cameras on me again before I can get a better look. I want to be angry, but I know he has good intentions. I don't need to strain my eyes watching her through the screens. I can still steal glimpses as he changes cameras.

He switches out into the main rooms, and I watch just as Uriah pulls her into a hug. A part of me is jealous of him—that he can do these things with her, and be around her, without making things uncomfortable. That is something I am jealous of Uriah for, his natural ability to charm anybody. Another part of me is glad that Uriah has taken a liking to her like a sister. He's always been a good kid, for as long as I've known him and his family—aside from Christina, he's one of the greatest friends she could have.

I don't particularly know what time is it, but Zeke has practically fallen asleep in front of the cameras. At least he stopped screwing around with them; my eyes can focus. Of course, they focus on her. All night, I've noticed she's either scanned the areas around her or she's stuck close to Uriah or Christina. I frown.

She says something to Uriah and turns to head out; as much as I want to follow her, I wait until I know which hallway she's headed out. She takes the stairs, and my eyes flicker to Eric—thankfully, he's too preoccupied to notice her. I breathe a sigh of relief and stand up, stretching briefly. I have always hated the chairs in here.

I shake Zeke awake—earning a few good names—before I head for the door, "don't fall asleep on the keyboard," I smirk, "wouldn't want the keys imprinted on your forehead like last time." He says something I don't hear because I'm already heading down the hall.

I get outside, stopping suddenly. I must be a walking contradiction—I don't want to stalk her, but yet that's exactly what it looks like I'm doing. I bite the inside of my cheek for a moment, debating my options. Either I miss my chance to talk to her, or I follow her wherever she's going and, in the process, possibly earn the title of a stalker.

 _I don't care_. At least that's what my head says. So I start walking again; I pull my hood up over my head and cut through some of the alleys. Her shadows pass by the openings before she does, but I never lose sight of her for long. I don't know where she's going until I see the fairgrounds up ahead.

I have to suppress the urge to laugh; we think alike. I always snuck out here, after my mother died, and my father got to be too much. It was always calm—I would climb up and stay on the lower limbs of the trees on the opposite end of the grounds. Except that's not where she goes; she heads straight for the Ferris Wheel, picking things up off the ground on the way. I can't see them, but I assume they're rocks.

I stay by the opening, just watching her. She climbs up the first few rungs, and glances around again. It reminds me of what Zeke asked me back in the control room. Her curiosity and cautiousness is like a sixth sense.

She gets up onto the first landing, sitting down by one of the lower carts. _Of course she would seek solace on something so dangerous_.

The lights that illuminate the open grounds outline her sitting shape in a silver line. I watch as she pulls her arm back and throws the small object. It doesn't go very far, but it hits the dirt with a small thud. After a moment, she throws another one and the wind blows around her, throwing her hair into her face.

I walk forward, careful to keep the lights off my face as I look up. She hasn't seen me yet, which surprises me a little bit. As I get closer, I see the slight frown on her face as she turns another rock over in her hands. I don't know exactly what to say, so I say, "I thought it was you up there." She jumps a little, glancing down over the edge. I crane my neck back to get a better look at her—she doesn't seem all that surprised to see me.

"How did you find me?" She asks, almost too quietly for me to hear.

"You're not the only person who hides around the fairgrounds when they're sulking," I reply. She stands up suddenly, and begins to walk around the cart. I feel a lump in my throat as she stumbles slightly—I get the image of her, falling, stuck in my head and I almost tell her to stop. I bury my hands in my pockets to hide their shaking.

She lifts her chin defensively, and says, "I'm not sulking." I laugh, nodding. _Of course you're not_. She sits at this end, this time, glancing back down at me.

"You're the only person I know who's crazy enough to climb a death trap, you know." Unfortunately, despite the breathtaking picture of her up on the ledge, I remember why I'm here. "Can I talk to you for a second?" She looks weary, biting her lip—a bad habit of hers, I've noticed.

"You have to come up here," she says. A small part of me nearly dies inside— _I can't climb up there_. Even that's too high up for me.

"Fuck," I sigh, shaking my head. As I try to remain calm, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, praying that if I press hard enough I can believe that what she's just asked of me was not real. "You don't make anything easy, I'm finding," I say, louder. I take another glance up, meeting her eyes this time.

An odd expression crosses her features then, and she leans forward a little more, "you're afraid of heights." It's not a question, or a taunt. Some of my body relaxes—because she doesn't look at me any different. But the other half has just lost the battle in my mind, the battle to keep my strong front up.

The fact that she didn't look at me like I was weak—like my fear didn't make me a coward in her eyes—gives me the strength to admit even to myself, "Everyone's afraid of something, Tris."

"Come up here," she says, softer this time. I still protest, but I also crave the strength she gives me that makes me move toward the ladder. She's my ultimate weakness, that ultimately gives me strength. All of which, still scares the hell out of me because I don't know anything about relationships or even really talking to a girl. But I know enough to say that climbing a rundown Ferris Wheel at midnight isn't how most begin—maybe ours could, if everything could work out the way I wanted it to.

The higher I climb, the closer I feel to letting go and falling. The ladder creaks with each rise, and my panic taunts me that it'll collapse beneath me despite its build. I can't help the filter that's suddenly not between my mind and mouth—I must sound like the most vulgar person she's ever heard.

Just as I get to the top, she reaches her hand out. My mind battles between her hand and the last rung—ultimately, I choose the last rung because I don't know how focused I'll remain if I grab her hand. My fingers end up grazing hers, and a shock shoots down my palm and up my arm. The hand that's holding the rung grips tighter, holding me in place for a moment.

When I'm sure I'm alright, I grab her hand and lift myself up. I try to slow my breathing down, and keep my eyes solely on her face for a moment. I don't try to look around, but I can't stop myself from watching the skyline. When I've had enough, I turn back to Tris, "That wasn't so bad." She says, smiling. She looks genuinely happy, but I still grimace. "So...you wanted to talk to me?"

 _Right_. The original reason for following her here. I nod, accidentally looking down in the process. My eyes seek for her face, and when they find her I relax, "I'm pretty sure you know why...the other night..." I answer. "You didn't have to apologize... I understand, now, why you did it."

She looks confused, "you were angry." I knew she'd think that. And I know, at the time I was but not with her.

"I wasn't angry with you," I say slowly, "not really. Not while you were in my apartment. I was more upset that I had to hurt you just to end the whole thing." There's a scab on her ear now.

"But you wouldn't talk to me," she says sadly. She looks down at her hands, but I focus on her.

"I didn't know what to say," I respond, grabbing onto one of the poles to keep myself still. "Honestly, I stabbed you in the ear. And we were both pretty pissed at the situation... what exactly could I have said to have made anything better?"

Tris shrugs, "you could have said you weren't angry with me."

"If I had been angry with you—," I wish she would look at me, "—I would have left you standing at that target. I wouldn't have brought you back to my apartment to clean your cut—,"

"Well I'm not a mind reader, Four!" She cries. I sigh, of course I know she's right.

"You're right. You're not." I answer. She looks smaller—defeated, like my answer wasn't enough. She drops her head into her hands and sighs.

"I honestly wish you would just yell at me already."

She's not an easy person to talk to; if anything, she's an enigma, and I'm determined to figure her out, "why would you say that? I don't want to yell at you."

"I think I'd feel better if you did," Tris sighs. She says it so quietly at first, I know she didn't intend for me to hear it but I do.

Something makes me lift her chin up, so she has to look at me now. I've missed her eyes, "I didn't know if I should apologize for being angry with you, for catching your ear... I knew I should have apologized for something. There were so many things wrong—unnecessary and unordinary about it. When you kept apologizing, I was no longer mad at you, Tris. I just wanted you to stop feeling sorry... I started to understand why you did it."

"You could have just said that," she says. I laugh, shaking his head. She says it so innocently.

"I could have. Okay? But I didn't. And when I brought you back to my apartment, all I could think about was 'is there some way to take this back' like that would have somehow made your ear stop bleeding. Like it would have somehow made me less angry with myself for snapping at you, or for hurting you..."

"You had to know I wasn't just going to watch Christina stand there..."

"Yeah, well I would have preferred it to be anyone but you," I say, "Do you feel better now?"

"A little," She answers, chewing her lip. A gust of wind blows around us and she shivers, her hands work to warm her arms up. She looks so small and fragile, like the wind could pick her up and take her way.

"Can we get down now?" I ask. This time Tris laughs, and with a nod we head down the ladder.

 **xXxXx**

I'm awoken my the furious pounding of a fist on my door the next morning. It's soon followed by another, too out of sync. And then howling. From just waking up, I'm almost dead weight as I lift myself up and stand up.

The clock on my wall says it's just after seven, and if the howling hadn't started up I would have assumed it was Eric. Though he rarely ever goes out of his way to search me out unless it's beneficial for him. I open the door, glaring through blurry eyes at Zeke and Shauna, "Really?" I ask.

"You look good," Zeke retorts sarcastically, smirking.

"I just woke up," I say, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. After walking Tris back to the school last night, I took my time walking back—it had to have been at least two a.m. when I got back. Five hours of sleep, just about.

"We could tell," Shauna grins.

"Why was it necessary to nearly beat my door down?" I ask, leaning against the counter to hold myself up. Shauna perches herself up on my countertop.

"We were coming to ask if you wanted to go for a run," she says, "they've got the pier opened again. Maybe we could head down." Had I known the pier was reopening, I would have told Tris sooner to get down from the ferris wheel—before they closed the pier down there for dock repairs, I always walked, or jogged down, whether I just wanted to or couldn't sleep. Plus, a run didn't sound like a bad idea. "Sure," I finally tell them. They leave my apartment, saying they'll meet me down by the net.

We jog down to the pier, stopping just under the arch to catch our breaths. "Remember when we first came here?" Shauna asks, kicking a stone into the water. The water has risen since then. I remember that day—Zeke and I were joking around, we grabbed Shauna's arms and pretended to throw her into the water.

"You were screaming like a little girl," Zeke laughs. Shauna punches him in the arm and he continues, "Oh come on, this place wouldn't have so much meaning to you if we didn't try. Plus, you insisted on being like the guys." Shauna rolls her eyes at him.

"What did you guys call it again?" She asks.

"Your initiation," I answer, smirking. Zeke wraps his arms around her chest, locking her arms at her sides.

"And yet you never did finish," he says, leaning her over the water. She doesn't scream, but she yells at him, despite laughing. I'm amazed Zeke hasn't fallen in with her, she's trying to break free; if she does, she'll be in the water. "Aren't you gonna help me, Four?"

We're not sixteen anymore, but the nostalgic part of me holds on to the day we really became friends. I grab Shauna's ankles, earning a few names, and Zeke and I swing her back and forth. Zeke, briefly, pretends to let go of her a few times, to scare her, and when we set her back on her feet she brushes her hair out of her eyes and cracks her knuckles, throwing a punch at Zeke's stomach. She goes for me, but I block her and she nearly falls backwards into the water.

"Race you guys back!" Shauna yells, sprinting past me before I can stop her. Zeke takes off next, and I follow not too far behind.


	3. Closer

**CHAPTER 3 – CLOSER**  
 _Tris Prior's POV_

Christina and I leave our last class of the morning for lunch, meeting Al and Will just outside. I wait in line with Christina as she fills up her tray when I feel an impatient, rude, tap on my shoulder and turn around to see Molly and Peter. Peter smirks, "too bad he only got your ear..." I flinch when his fingers come in contact with the cut, "though I doubt he could do anything with that knife to fix your face anyway."

"I don't think he could," Molly adds with an agreeing nod.

"Four was just too afraid to hurt you, huh?" Peter glares at me, dead in the eye, "Is this gonna be a regular thing, making yourself news around here?" Little does he think, I don't ask to be.

"Get the hell out of here," Christina says, trying to turn me away from them. I'm too stubborn to back down though, she knows that by now. Peter and Molly don't scare me as much as they'd like to think they do.

"How do you do it?" Peter taunts, "you're a nobody. You're a _stiff_. Yet somehow everyone's calling you _brave_." He puts his hands up in air quotations.

"Well I don't get those titles by bullying those beneath me," I retort. I know Peter's not an idiot – he knows what I have just said. Though I can't say the same about Molly, she seems to agree a lot instead of thinking of her own thoughts.

"You'd better watch out. If Eric picks you as the target again, I'll volunteer myself to throw those knives and there goes you're not so pretty face."

"Can you even actually throw a knife, Peter?" I ask. If Eric picked Four, I doubt he wants an amateur throwing knives around.

"Watch yourself," Peter growls. "You better hope Eric doesn't pick you next time," He's close to my face that I instinctively recoil back, but not out of fear. Just out of disgust. He turns away after a minute, with Molly right behind him.

Christina asks, "Does anyone else need a nap after dealing with them?"

"He's such a coward," I mutter, "what did he do? Mull over in his head what to say for the last two weeks?" And I thought he was smarter than that.

"While he may be smart, he's not the smartest person here." Christina says, stepping out of line with her tray. We find a table by the windows, I see Peter and Molly harassing a younger boy out in the courtyard. I feel my face wrinkle in disgust.

"Can't they find something better to do?"

Al shrugs, "Don't waste your time hoping for that. Besides, he's gone now," Al says, going back to his food.

We see Uriah heading towards us, a girl by his side I think I remember her name is Marlene.

Uriah jumps right into it, "Zeke says this is the last week we can go zip lining again until the spring." I am all ears, and apparently so is Christina.

"Oh yeah, when are we going?" Christina asks.

He replies, "Probably Friday night. He's gonna be bringing some more friends this time, so if you guys want you can bring some too. But you've got me, so you don't need to," Uriah winks, which causes Christina to snort, shaking her head. I wonder if Four is one of those people, but given how much he hates heights I doubt it. Uriah turns to me, looking expectantly.

"What?" I ask.

"I'll forgive you for zoning me out, just this once, only because I happen to enjoy your company stiff," Uriah says with a wicked grin.

"Don't call me stiff!" I protest with a sigh, "what do I have to do to make you stop calling me that?" They all glance at each other, some of them smirking. There's a feeling in my gut, one that's unsure about whatever they have in mind.

"How do you feel about tattoos?" He asks after a moment. I hadn't thought about getting a tattoo at all. I stare between them all, wide eyed for a moment.

"You're not serious," I reply.

"Dead serious."

 _What would my tattoo even be?_ I don't want something on a whim, something without meaning. If I'm going to get a tattoo, I want to be something I won't regret later. With a shrug I say, "...well, I'm not opposed to them, I guess."

"Alright, if you get a tattoo I'll stop calling you a stiff." He holds his hand out, like he's about to shake my hand. With a reluctant sigh, I reach across and shake his hand, "But it's gotta be a good one."

"Define good," I say. He shrugs.

"Bigger than the size of a quarter...it can have meaning...not some cheap quote-y thing, please," I laugh, "...and it's gotta be where we can see it," he replies. I nod, and stand up.

"And where exactly will I be getting this tattoo done?" I ask.

"Tonight at the pit. You know, Tori?—she's _amazing_ with the needle." Uriah promises. I feel like I should be more nervous that I'll be permanently marking my skin—except I don't. I'm not scared of this, and I wonder if that's because I have some weird trust in this boy or if fear doesn't register with me the same way as most.

"Have you thought about what you're gonna get?" Christina asks as we get to the pit. I shake my head; I hadn't really given it anymore thought today. Uriah is talking with his brother, Zeke, and I notice that Four is standing with them. They're laughing, and I wonder if it's because Uriah has mentioned I'm getting a tattoo in exchange for him calling me something other than stiff. It's a weak deal, but not a horrible one.

As we approach them, Four's eyes meet mine. I see a glint of humor in them. He has to know. "So, you made a deal with my idiot brother?" Zeke asks me. I nod. "What's the deal?"

"He didn't tell you?" I ask. They shake their heads.

"I figured I'd let you do the honors," Uriah says with a wave of his hand.

"It was your idea," I reply.

"The fact that you actually agreed is startling," Four speaks up. I look up at him, "...his ideas usually end in disaster."

"Oh come on, Four," Uriah says, rolling his eyes, "this was actually a decent idea."

"I'm scared for her," Four retorts. I suck in a breath, feeling more confident.

"I'm getting a tattoo," I say, feeling slightly proud to admit it. They both stare at me, wide-eyed, unblinking. Zeke laughs.

"Please tell me you get to pick what it's going to be," Four practically begs. I nod again, and I see him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Of course, I'm not an idiot," Uriah says, shaking his head. "She gets to pick it, I just said it had to be bigger than a quarter, it can have a meaning, but the only catch is that we have to be able to see it." He turns to me, "So, stiff—," I give him a look, but he stops me, "—hey, until that tattoo is on your skin I still get to call you stiff. We made a deal." I roll my eyes and he continues, "So, have you thought about what you're going to get?"

"Tori does offer ideas if you don't have one," Zeke cuts in. I feel relieved, but a little unsure at the same time. I don't exactly know if Tori likes me or not; when we first met I didn't like being scrutinized.

"Then I guess I'll see when I get there," I say.

"Let's go then," Uriah says, heading off with Zeke and Christina right behind him. I'm about to leave when I feel Four's hand grip my arm.

"You actually made a deal with Uriah?" He asks me. I nod. "I'm surprised he even set guidelines."

"Uriah wouldn't be a jerk to me," I say, surely. Four shrugs and follows me as we head in the direction they went. Uriah holds the door open for me, and I realize that we're in a different area of the pit—one I've never been. There are glass slabs with silhouettes of designs hanging all over the walls. Tori is standing by a chair, the needle all set and ready in her hands.

"Ah, you didn't tell me I'd be tattooing the _stiff_..." she says, smirking a little.

"My name's Tris," I say.

"Right, how could I possibly forget the name I was never told," Tori says. She has a dry sense of humor, but she doesn't seem like she's essentially being mean towards me. Just sarcastic—I guess I understand why they're friends with her—they're not always the nicest of people either. "You can take a look around, I need to go grab more sterile wipes." She leaves, and I head towards the wall in the back.

Most of them are of animals; stags, snakes, animal claws... I come across a slab with three birds; they look like they're flying downward. They remind me of my family, because there's three of them. And I've always associated flight with freedom, confidence. All of which my family has—they all know what they want to do, what they need to do.

"Find something?" Christina asks, coming up beside me. I nod.

"I think so." I reach up and pull it off the clip. The glass is smooth in my hands, the design has a texture of its own. A little rough. Tori returns, kicking the door shut behind her. She places a box next to the chair and looks directly at me.

"Found one?" She asks.

"Yeah," I answer, holding the slab out to her waiting hands. She takes it from me, glancing at it briefly before pointing at the chair and setting it aside.

"You ready to get marked up, stiff?" Uriah grins, leaning against the desk.

"Better get your 'stiffs' in now," Four says to him, grinning, "I don't think she's backing out."

"I'm not," I promise.

"Where do you want it?" Tori asks, holding a sterile wipe. _Where it can be seen_. I'm feeling a bit more confident than I should... _Where it can be seen_. It's an uncommon place, but I want to be able to see it as well.

"Right here," I answer, running my fingers over my collarbone. On the left side. Tori wipes the area down and turns the needle on; she moves my hair out of the way. The last thing I see before I close my eyes are a bunch of gazes on me. I stay completely still, waiting for the pin pricks. I am a little nervous now as her fingers grip my shoulder to hold me still. My heart is beginning to race, and then the needle is on my skin.

It hurts, especially on the base of my neck, on bone, but it's not unbearable. I imagine she held me down so I wouldn't jump; it is a little painful. After a moment, I relax slightly and just let the needle prickle and pinch my skin.

I don't know how long I've been in this chair, but soon enough Tori turns the needle off, "You're all done." She says, glancing down at the work she's done. They're all still watching me when I look up.

"Well...?" I ask.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it," Zeke says, frowning slightly.

"You, my friend, owe me ten bucks," Four grins.

"You guys bet on this?" I sit up, wincing at the slight discomfort now.

"It looks nice!" Uriah says, clapping me on the back, "definitely a good one. And we can see it. I guess I can't call you stiff anymore."

"Nope, you can't," I smile. Christina holds my hair back, observing it much closer.

"Now I kinda want another tattoo," she says; I laugh.

"Well, this one's only free because I owed Uriah," Tori says, "any of you want one now, I'm charging."

"Damn," Christina sighs, "maybe next time." Tori had closed up right after we left; Christina kept trying to look at my tattoo as we walked back to the pit. "I would have never imagined you would actually get this done."

"Why? You all wanted me to remain a stiff?" I ask, lightly brushing my fingers over the irritated area. It hurts a little worse now than actually getting it done, but my shirt doesn't rub against it or cover it. I can handle it.

"Not really," Christina shrugs, and speeds up to walk beside Uriah—who is telling a wildly inappropriate story. He practically has Zeke in stitches. Four slows down, falling into stride with me behind the others.

"Does it hurt?" He asks, his voice low enough so only I can hear him. Though I doubt the others would notice us—they're too busy laughing at Uriah's story.

"A little," I say, tracing it again. Four looks over at it, his eyes lingering.

"It looks nice," he says, a shy smile grazing his lips. They look soft.

"Thanks." I bite my lip to keep myself from grinning a little too wide. The comment already has my skin growing warm, I can only imagine how red my face must be. We don't say anything else, but the silence isn't awkward or intimidating, it's nice.

Four is a lot taller than me, not that I'm just now realizing this but his legs are longer so he's a little more up ahead than me. I take this time to look at him again; he walks a little tense, but it's also a little reckless. He doesn't really drag his feet, but he doesn't pick them up much either. And he usually walks with his hands in his pockets, like he is now. With his gaze to the floor when he thinks no one is looking.

He is very handsome, sometimes in a boyish way; his eyes are so deep-set. His eyelashes are quite long for a boy's, they touch the skin below his eyebrows. I also notice that his eyes are a deeper shade of dark blue than usual, they look like you could drown in the depths. And maybe I am, because I'm staring too long, too intently at him.

He must notice because he looks over his shoulder at me, with a faint smile tugging at his mouth. I avert my eyes to my shoes and keep walking. I think back to what Zeke had said earlier, about him not thinking I would go through with it—I think about it enough, that I nudge Four's arm and ask, "what was the bet? The one you and Zeke made."

Four smirks, "thanks for reminding me. Zeke didn't think you'd go through with getting a tattoo, but I knew you would." I'm not sure if I should suspicious of that, or flattered. Flattered that he saw that faith in me to go through on my word, or suspicious because he thinks I was being careless again. But he sounds sincere.

"How?" I pry. Four shrugs again, thinking.

"I'm not exactly sure, just a gut feeling I guess. But Zeke thought that he'd talk you out of it somehow." I nod, but shrug after a moment.

"Well Uriah has been nothing but amicable to me," I reply, "he's like a brother to me."

"Uriah could be anybody's brother," Four says with a smirk. I nod in agreement; Uriah has that friendly nature about him—whether you're the shyest person on the planet, or the biggest jerk, he seems to be that guy that could bring the good out, the fun out in anybody. Silence again, but I'm finding that silence with Four is normal—it's just how he is.

As we get closer to the noise, the others barely notice the two of us have fallen behind. For a moment, I wonder if Four is expecting me to join my friends; but he must notice my hesitation, because he asks, "You don't have to go back if you don't want to... you could stay with me?" He looks hopeful. I feel my stomach twist at his words.

I do very much want that.

"Okay," I nod, feeling my lips curl into a smile. Four's smile is gorgeous, and I almost feel like I don't see it enough. He watches me for a moment, before he reaches for my hand and we break away from the group. I'm not sure where he is leading me, until we find ourselves just outside the apartments. I wonder why he is bringing me here?

Four unlocks the door and lets me in first, following behind me.

"What are we doing here?" I ask, I play with the sleeve of my shirt out of nerves.

"I wanted to show you something," Four says. He takes my hand again and leads me to another door; when he opens it, light pours into the room and I see that there is a balcony. It looks rusted and scratched up, but sturdy. "The other night, when you were looking out the window... I didn't think you realized there was a way outside to see better."

I suck in a breath; _he was watching me?_

"I didn't," I say breathlessly, "the view is amazing." It is the second best view I've gotten of this city. I don't know if anything could top the view from the Hancock building, or the zip line, but still I am taken away with it.

"I'm glad you like it," Four smiles. He stands at the rails beside me, his shoulder brushing up against mine. He feels firm, almost solid, like a rock.

"Do the other apartments have this view?" I ask. Four shakes his head, the smile never leaving his lips. He looks almost like a statue of gold in the city lights.

"No," he answers, "That's why I'm glad I chose this one."

"You got to choose?"

Four nods, "Every few years or so the apartments free up and new employees Max hires get to live here. Because the pit was fairly new when Eric, Tori, and I got here there weren't too many people living here at the time. Zeke started a few months later than me, but he lives with him mother and Uriah. Eric wanted something without windows, Tori likes her apartment behind the tattoo parlor, so it worked out. I like windows..." he trails off. A small breeze picks up around us, some of my hair rests on Four's shoulder.

"How does that work?" I ask, "Max hiring, and living here, working here...?"

"Well, Zeke and I work in security; we're usually up in the control room making sure nothing happens overnight, or while everyone is here if we don't feel like joining the excitement. Tori owns the tattoo parlor, she worked in security with us and tattoos back to back and bought it from Max. Eric worked in security for a little while too, but he's become Max's assistant when Max isn't around. Eric's also a trainer, he likes to think his training is 'what's best'. To make things easier for the employees, Max decided he wanted a few additions added to the pit, and he made the additions about twelve apartments. We don't have to live here, but it's just easier."

"Max sounds generous," I say. Four smirks.

"About as generous as Eric," he says with a sigh, "just a little more lenient." Four looks at me, his face is only about a few feet from mine. His lips look soft, his skin looks rough. I can see a scar on his chin I didn't notice before.

"Do you deal with him a lot?"

"No, thankfully," Four says, "I don't think I've seen him in about two months. He doesn't stay here, he rarely ever visits anymore to check up on things. I think last I heard from him, he'd opened up another spot on the other side of Chicago. We usually only see him when he's here to collect rent. He mails our paychecks, otherwise he'd be here weekly like he should be."

"I guess it's nice you don't have to see him all the time, though."

"Definitely," Four nods, "but if only he could see how Eric's running this place." I nod, I wasn't expecting Eric to be so _harsh_ after I met him. He seemed almost normal that first day, but I am quickly making my way up his list of names.

"Do you worry about Eric a lot?"

Four laughs, "If I spent every minute worrying about how Eric was gonna deal with me every day I don't think I would have seen three years here. He wasn't this bad in school, but back then he was just as jealous." I can see jealousy from Eric.

"He's jealous of you," it's not a question.

"Very," Four nods, "He was always one or two points behind me in everything. Even fighting."

"You used to fight him?"

"Unwillingly, most times," he answers. I notice his knuckles are split, black and blue. _He didn't fight Eric recently, did he?_ His fingers graze over the cuts, absentmindedly, "Eric thought that since he couldn't beat me academically, maybe he could beat me physically."

"He thought? So I'm guessing he didn't, then."

"No," Four answers, shaking his head, "He always wanted rematches, he was always looking for the next excuse to fight me. I wouldn't give it to him, I got tired of his need to win. If I don't let him fight me, he can't win. And that drives him crazy... it's better than getting even with him."

"That's... mature," I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. Four scoffs, his eyes finding mine.

"Mature?" He asks with a laugh. His whole body turns to me, he leans on one arm on the railing, watching me, "I guess you could call it that." We stand there for a few minutes in silence, the city seems to get brighter as the night grows darker.

"What would you call it, then?" I ask. His eyes don't leave mine, and it makes me hyperaware of everything about him.

"Resigned," he finally answers. Another few moments of silence before Four clears his throat, "Okay, you got your questions in. Now it's my turn."

"What do you want to know?" I ask, my voice feeling weak. _He wants to get to know me?_

"Where are you from?" He asks after a minute. _Easy_.

"Well, from the time I was about nine maybe, we lived here in Chicago. My father and mother decided they wanted a change of scenery and we moved to New York. My parents wanted us to have a good education; my father went to the school here, that my brother and I are attending, and they thought it would be perfect for us."

"My father thought boarding school would straighten me out," Four comments, a small frown on his face. I don't like seeing him frown.

"Were you a bad kid?" I ask. Four shakes his head slowly; he is staring at the city but it almost looks like he's staring into nothing.

"It's complicated," he says softly. I don't press him on it. He must sense my unease, because he straightens himself up, towering above me. He reaches down, his fingers slipping between mine and he gives my hand a soft squeeze. He peers through his eyelashes at me, searching my face, "is this okay?"

I feel like I might melt, or fall apart, or stop breathing.

I must opt to stop breathing, because I can only nod and hope that my face isn't bright red. Four smiles, his fingers giving mine another light squeeze. I am sad when he releases my hand, but I don't protest. My fingertips feel alive with electricity, seeing his touch again.

After a quiet moment, Four's eyes linger down to my tattoo again.

"Do you have any tattoos?" I ask, my voice finding its own strength. He smirks, a playful grin.

"I'm not much different from you, it seems," he says, "I didn't get a tattoo until just recently."

"Really?" My mouth hangs open slightly, "but you seem so... _tough_." Four laughs, deep from his stomach. When he calms down, his eyes are glassed over and his smile is soft.

"About as tough as a dull knife," he replies. I am reminded of the knife throwing, how sharp it pierced my ear. Definitely _not_ dull. I quickly shake the thought from my mind, "and I'm not sure tattoos define strength."

"What makes you say that?" I ask, my fingers poke at his arm, "you're strong..."

"Strong," he agrees, nodding his head, "but not because of my tattoo."

"What _is_ your tattoo?"

"Would you wanna see it?" He asks after a minute, his voice low. For a moment, I can't breathe; _where is his tattoo?_ Will it give me the excuse to see a part of him I never thought I'd see? What does it mean to him?

"Yes," I breathe. The corner of his lips curves up, briefly. _He really is gorgeous_. Four takes a deep breath in; he looks almost hesitant before he reaches for the neckline of his shirt and lifts it above his head. His torso is long, and muscular. I imagine running my hand along his skin; I wonder if it would burn me, he looks so warm. Or if he would turn me to ice because his stomach looks hard as stone. _Gorgeous_ doesn't even begin to describe this half of his body.

He looks shy, "I don't let many people see me like this... I don't let _anybody_ , actually."

"I can't imagine why," my voice feels lost now, "Look at you..." Four's smile is kind, like a boy's smile. He turns away from me to reveal a large tattoo that covers almost every inch of his back. The blades of his shoulders visibly relax as he finally gets his shirt off. The ink almost looks like black paint against his skin, with five symbols down his spine and spikes all around them running along his ribs. It is the biggest tattoo I have ever seen, "Wow... Four..."

He faces me again, his fingers lacing mine again.

"You don't have to call me Four, you know," he chuckles.

"What do you want me to call you, then?"

"My real name is Tobias," he says cautiously, "everyone just knows me as Four around here because of the first fight I was in."

"Really?" I ask, "what happened?"

"Took me four seconds to knock this poor kid out..." he says, looking sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck, "It was actually an accident, I knew nothing about fighting really... the guy, Edward, that Max had running this place at the time chose me to fight and out of instinct I just went for it and I don't even remember how I hit him. I just remember seeing blood, and watching this kid fall to the ground..."

"Your first fight wasn't with Eric?"

"No," he shakes his head, "Eric heard about my fight. He wanted to prove he was tougher."

"But you won," I say. Four nods.

"Don't ask me how," he laughs a little, "I was scrawny. Probably a hundred and ten soaking wet, and I knew nothing about fighting. I just watched him, and I figured out when he would try to hit me."

"Sounds like you got lucky."

"Yeah," he says quietly, "sounds like it." We fall into another silence, only hearing the noises from the city below and the wind above. I feel him shift beside me and he reaches for his shirt on the ground, finding the hole for the neck.

I bite my lip, I don't want to see him put his shirt back on yet.

"Wait—," I keep my hand at my side, though I so badly want to touch him. Given his hesitation about removing his shirt, I don't want to make him even more uncomfortable.

"What?" Tobias asks, looking at me in confusion. My fingers itch to touch his skin. I let my eyes absorb this image of him; tall, lean, strong. His blues eyes burn into my face but all I can bring myself to look at is the muscles pulling his abdomen taut. He must work so hard to look like this, but he is modest—he doesn't show himself off.

"I just—," I feel my face heat up.

"Just... _what?_ " He asks; his tone sounds enticing, joking. I bite the inside of my cheek— _how do I tell him, without_ actually _telling him, that I don't want him to cover himself up again?_ "You can touch me," he says softly, his eyes never leaving mine. His fingers wrap around my hand, and he brings my palm to his chest. I can feel his heartbeat, it flutters as quickly as mine and I can't tell if he's nervous too, or if it's something else.

His skin is not just warm, his skin is hot. It burns my fingertips, warming my hand to the same temperature as my face. I feel a shiver run through him.

He is hard as stone, just as I expected. His eyes soften the longer I stare, and he breathes a small sigh of relief. I don't know how long we stand like that for, but Tobias tugs me closer until he can wrap an arm around my waist.

All of the air leaves my body as I realize just how close he is; alarms going off in my head that this could lead to something I am not ready for. He feels so good, at the same time. My hands rest between our chests, I push against him lightly at first, and then a little harder the second time. He must get my hint because he lets me go immediately, his skin flushing to a bright red.

"I'm sorry," Tobias apologizes. He quickly throws his shirt back on, his arms crossing his chest. I can't tell what he is thinking, or what he is feeling. He looks upset. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable..."

"You didn't..." I say, "uh... it's all just new to me. I haven't been with anyone... like that..."

"Like _what?_ " Tobias gives me a cautious frown, "like romantically? Or... sexually?"

"Both," I breathe, feeling embarrassed. I see the vein in his neck jump as he swallows, hard.

"Tris," he starts, shaking his head, "I wasn't going to do anything you didn't want me to do... it's all new to me, too." I want to find it hard to believe, but he said he doesn't let anyone see him—and he's looked nervous around me this whole time. "You believe me, right?"

"I do," I say after a pause, "I do..."

"I let you touch my chest, so you would be more at ease around me," he says, taking a slow step towards me, "I would never touch you without your say so..."

"I believe you," I say, wholeheartedly. I do believe him. He didn't even try to kiss me, he just wanted me close. I would be lying if I said I didn't want the same.

"Good," Tobias lets out a shaky breath, nodding once, "will you be back tomorrow?"

"Here?"

"At the pit," he says.

"I think so," I reply, feeling cold now that he is no longer holding me. He must sense it, because he carefully touches my arms, rubbing his palms along my skin to warm me up. "Thank you..."

"You're welcome," Tobias smiles, briefly, "come back tomorrow, okay? I want to see you again." I feel a blush creeping along my skin at his words. _I want that, too_...

"Okay."

 **xXxXx  
** _Tobias Eaton's POV_

Zeke and I are up for a jog the next morning; Shauna had me up in the practice room all night, my arms feel heavy with every step. Zeke stops about twenty minutes in, at a bus stop, to catch his breath.

"Apparently your girl made a deal with my idiot brother?" Zeke tells me, smirking, "she's not stupid...so what is she thinking?"

"She's not mine," I say, a little bitterly. "And I have no idea what you're talking about." I haven't seen Tris since the other night in my apartment. I haven't told Zeke about that, he's keen on making up scenarios.

"So she didn't mention anything?"

"Does it look like I've seen her today?" I ask. It's only nine-thirty.

"No, but you definitely saw her the other night," he shrugs, but he's right, "right?"

I smirk, "So?"

"...So?" Zeke asks.

"What? We talked."

"I'll get more out of you later," Zeke says.

"Threat or promise?"

"Both," Zeke smirks; I laugh, shaking my head. He's not gonna get much.

"What's the bet she and Uriah made?" I ask between breaths.

"No idea, but he's been gloating about it since he left class this morning," Zeke says with a shrug. I'll have to find Tris tonight and ask her then. We finish our run, making it to the pier and back, Zeke decides to go find Shauna and I decide to head back to my apartment to shower.

 **xXxXx**

I didn't realize this bet they made would be happening tonight; Eric is going to be the only one on patrol it seems, I don't want to miss this and I'm finding that somehow Tori is involved. Uriah arrives first, Tris and Christina in tow not too long later. Tris looks at me, "So, you made a deal with my idiot brother?" Zeke asks as they get closer. She nods, looking a little too eager for one of Uriah's ideas. "What's the deal?"

"He didn't tell you?" She asks. We shake our heads.

"I figured I'd let you do the honors," Uriah says.

"It was your idea," Tris retorts.

"The fact that you actually agreed is startling," I say. She looks up at me, "...his ideas usually end in disaster."

"Oh come on, Four," Uriah says, rolling his eyes at me, "this was actually a decent idea."

"I'm scared for her," I taunt.

"I'm getting a tattoo," Tris says, practically glowing with pride. Zeke's mouth hangs open slightly and I just stare at her, wide-eyed. Zeke laughs beside me.

"Please tell me you get to pick what it's going to be," I ask, a little nervous. She nods again, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Of course, I'm not an idiot," Uriah says, shaking his head. "She gets to pick it, I just said it had to be bigger than a quarter, it can have a meaning, but the only catch is that we have to be able to see it." I suddenly wonder if she even knows where she's getting it, "So, stiff—," Tris gives him a look, but Uriah stops her, "—hey, until that tattoo is on your skin I still get to call you stiff. We made a deal." It's amusing to watch them—definitely like brother and sister. Tris rolls her eyes but he continues, "So, have you thought about what you're going to get?"

"Tori does offer ideas if you don't have one," Zeke cuts in. Tris looks a little weary at the sound of Tori's name.

"Then I guess I'll see when I get there," Tris says.

"Let's go then," Uriah heads off first, with Zeke and Christina right behind him. Tris is about to follow them, but I just want a second with her. I grab her arm. Her skin is soft, and cool to the touch. I don't move my hand just yet.

"You actually made a deal with Uriah?" I ask her. She nods. "I'm surprised he even set guidelines."

"Uriah wouldn't be a jerk to me," I believe her, but I just shrug and follow her. Uriah holds the door open for her; she glances around the room in awe, like she's never seen a place like it. And I'm guessing she hasn't, but her expression is one of genuine curiosity. All of the designs Tori's made over the years or in her spare time hang all over the walls on glass slabs. Tori is standing by the chair with the needle all set and ready in her hands.

"Ah, you didn't tell me I'd be tattooing the stiff..." she says, smirking.

"My name's Tris," She says. I have to suppress my smirk—she has a fire in her, that's for sure.

"Right, how could I possibly forget the name I was never told," Tori retorts. "You can take a look around, I need to go grab more sterile wipes." She leaves the room, and Tris heads for the wall in the back. I don't see which one she grabs because Christina steps up beside her and blocks my view from the counter.

Zeke hits my shoulder, "ten bucks, she backs out."

I smirk, "ten bucks, she doesn't." He shakes my hand and I already know I'm right. She won't back out of this. At least she can flinch this time if it hurts... I'm reminded of the other night, with the knife throwing, and I shiver.

When Tori returns, she throws most of the boxes under the counter and puts one at the chair. "Found one?" She asks. Tris hands it to her, and on the slab is three birds, flying down. It's an interesting tattoo; I wonder what made her choose it. Oddly enough, it already suits her well.

"You ready to get marked up, stiff?" Uriah grins, leaning against the desk.

"Better get your 'stiffs' in now," I say to him, grinning, "I don't think she's backing out."

"I'm not," Tris says, shaking her head at us.

"Where do you want it?" Tori asks, holding a sterile wipe. Tris contemplates the question, and then her fingers graze the protruding bone on the base of her neck. My mouth goes dry slightly. _This is not the time to be getting worked up over her!_

"Right here," She answers. Tori runs the sterile wipe over her neck and turns the needle on. Tris looks between the four of us and then closes her eyes, sitting almost completely still. The moment Tori touches the needle to her skin, Zeke sighs.

Sometime later, Tori finishes fairly quickly; she puts the needle down and says, "You're all done." Tris opens her eyes again, and then looks down at the ink.

"Well...?" She asks.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it," Zeke frowns.

"You, my friend, owe me ten bucks," I grin.

"You guys bet on this?" Tris asks. She sits up, wincing slightly.

"It looks nice!" Uriah says, patting her on the back, "definitely a good one. And we can see it. I guess I can't call you stiff anymore."

"Nope, you can't," She smiles triumphantly. Christina pushes her hair out of the way, observing the tattoo.

"Now I kinda want another tattoo," Christina jokes, throwing her arm around Tris's shoulders; Tris laughs, leaning into her hug.

"Well, this one's only free because I owed Uriah," Tori says, "any of you want one now, I'm charging."

"Damn," Christina sighs, "maybe next time." We leave the tattoo parlor shortly after. Tori locks up once we're out and she heads to the pit to check on Eric. Christina keeps trying to see Tris's tattoo, "I would have never imagined you would actually get this done." She says.

"Why? You all wanted me to remain a stiff?" Tris asks, lightly tracing over the tattoo.

"Not really," Christina speeds up to walk beside Uriah—who is in the midst of telling Zeke and the rest of us about the overly-affectionate couple he walked in on in the bathrooms. Zeke is in stitches beside me but I slow down, walking beside Tris.

"Does it hurt?" I ask, low enough for only her to hear. I remember the pain from getting mine done—though mine was much larger than three birds.

"A little," She answers, tracing it again. I can't help it, this is more skin I've ever seen on her.

"It looks nice," I say, smiling at her.

"Thanks." We're silent after that, listening to more of Uriah's ridiculous story; I actually like the silences as much as when we talk. It allows me to steal small moments to just admire her.

We fall out of stride slightly, Tris is a little further behind me. I feel her nudge my shoulder and she asks, "what was the bet? The one you and Zeke made."

I smirk; I almost forgot, "thanks for reminding me. Zeke didn't think you'd go through with getting a tattoo, but I knew you would."

"How?" She questions. I can only shrug at first—I don't actually know, she just has that aura that tells me she doesn't give up or back down easily.

"I'm not exactly sure, just a gut feeling I guess. But Zeke thought that he'd talk you out of it somehow." She nods slowly.

"Well Uriah has been nothing but amicable to me," Tris replies, "he's like a brother to me."

"Uriah could be anybody's brother," I say with a smirk. The main area of the pit isn't quite as full tonight; I have a feeling Eric's had an easier time keeping track of everybody. I notice the closer we get to the pit, the more unsure she looks about something. She watches the others head off into the crowd of people, but stays back with me. _Maybe she doesn't want the excitement tonight?_ "You don't have to go back if you don't want to... you could stay with me?" I ask.

She smiles.

"Okay." I feel my own smile at her answer. I reach for her hand, like second nature, though I never liked holding hands in the first place. It was always unnatural to me, but with her it's easy; it's something I want to do. I decide my apartment may be the most closed off. I don't want to make her uncomfortable by bringing her there alone, but the first time I had her there she seemed okay. I just want some time with her, no interruptions, no audiences. The closer we get, the more I think about the other night, when she was intrigued by the large window in my apartment. I could show her more of that, out on the balcony. I unlock the door and hold it open for her, following her into the room.

"What are we doing here?" Tris asks, playing with a loose string on her sleeve. _Nervous_.

"I wanted to show you something," I say. I take her hand again and lead her through the door to the balcony; light pours into the room and I hear her suck in a sharp breath, "The other night, when you were looking out the window... I didn't think you realized there was a way outside to see better."

"I didn't," she says in awe, her eyes look so alive, "the view is amazing."

"I'm glad you like it," I say, smiling.

"Do the other apartments have this view?" She asks. I shake my head, _this view is all mine_.

"No," I answer, "That's why I'm glad I chose this one."

"You got to choose?"

I nod, "Every few years or so the apartments free up and new employees Max hires get to live here. Because the pit was fairly new when Eric, Tori, and I got here there weren't too many people living here at the time. Zeke started a few months later than me, but he lives with him mother and Uriah. Eric wanted something without windows, Tori likes her apartment behind the tattoo parlor, so it worked out. I like windows..." A small breeze picks up around us.

"How does that work?" She asks, "Max hiring, and living here, working here...?"

"Well, Zeke and I work in security; we're usually up in the control room making sure nothing happens overnight, or while everyone is here if we don't feel like joining the excitement. Tori owns the tattoo parlor, she worked in security with us and tattoos back to back and bought it from Max. Eric worked in security for a little while too, but he's become Max's assistant when Max isn't around. Eric's also a trainer, he likes to think his training is 'what's best'. To make things easier for the employees, Max decided he wanted a few additions added to the pit, and he made the additions about twelve apartments. We don't have to live here, but it's just easier."

"Max sounds generous," Tris says. I can't help but laugh a little.

"About as generous as Eric," I say with a sigh, "just a little more lenient." When I turn to look at her, she is already looking at me. Her eyes are an intense mix of blue and grey, something I've never seen before, but something I could get lost in.

"Do you deal with him a lot?"

"No, thankfully," I reply, "I don't think I've seen him in about two months. He doesn't stay here, he rarely ever visits anymore to check up on things. I think last I heard from him, he'd opened up another spot on the other side of Chicago. We usually only see him when he's here to collect rent. He mails our paychecks, otherwise he'd be here weekly like he should be."

"I guess it's nice you don't have to see him all the time, though."

"Definitely," I nod again, "but if only he could see how Eric's running this place." Tris bites her lip, deep in thought. I wonder what she is thinking about.

"Do you worry about Eric a lot?"

This time I laugh, "If I spent every minute worrying about how Eric was gonna deal with me every day I don't think I would have seen three years here. He wasn't this bad in school, but back then he was just as jealous."

"He's jealous of you," it's not a question.

"Very," I almost sigh, "He was always one or two points behind me in everything. Even fighting."

"You used to fight him?"

"Unwillingly, most times," I answer. I run my fingers over the splits on my knuckles from practice with Shauna last night, "Eric thought that since he couldn't beat me academically, maybe he could beat me physically."

"He thought? So I'm guessing he didn't, then."

"No," I shake my head, "He always wanted rematches, he was always looking for the next excuse to fight me. I wouldn't give it to him, I got tired of his need to win. If I don't let him fight me, he can't win. And that drives him crazy... it's better than getting even with him."

"That's... _mature_ ," Tris says, a small smile on her lips. I scoff, which causes her to look up at me, and her eyes find mine.

"Mature?" I ask with another laugh, "I guess you could call it that."

"What would you call it, then?" Tris asks. I don't take my eyes off of her as I search for the right word; she is very pretty, just not in the way I'm used to seeing. Most girls around the pit, that I've noticed, are very skilled with make-up; they tend to wear a lot of it, but it still looks attractive. Tris wears nothing more than what is on her eyes; her skin glows, and her lips, on their own, are the perfect shade of pink. She is ordinary, but in a good sense—I would have originally said plain, but there is nothing plain about her that keeps me coming back to her. I can't place what it is, I just know that she is what wakes me up every time I see her.

"Resigned," I finally answer, realizing I was beginning to lose myself at the sight of her. Another few moments of silence before I clear my throat to break it, "Okay, you got your questions in. Now it's my turn."

"What do you want to know?" She asks.

"Where are you from?" I ask out of curiosity.

"Well, from the time I was about nine maybe, we lived here in Chicago. My father and mother decided they wanted a change of scenery and we moved to New York. My parents wanted us to have a good education; my father went to the school here, that my brother and I are attending, and they thought it would be perfect for us."

"My father thought boarding school would straighten me out," I frown.

"Were you a bad kid?" She asks. I shake my head. How would I even begin to tell her my past? The last thing I want to do is dampen this evening I have with her.

"It's complicated," I finally say. Tris doesn't press me on it, and I realize then that fire in her is under her control; she knows when to press and when to hold off. I straighten myself up, my arms no longer supporting me on the rail. I reach for her hand again, and ask, "is this okay?" I know I am a little late to ask this, but I don't want to scare her off now.

A blush creeps into her skin, but she doesn't say anything. She just smiles, and I decide to accept it as her answer. I give her hand a light squeeze and then let go, against my wishes. I hope she doesn't think I'm being rude; my eyes fall down to her tattoo again, along the bone. I have never wanted anybody in the same way I want her; and seeing her tattoo so easily accessible, I want her even more.

"Do you have any tattoos?" Tris asks. I can't help but smirk; I was without any tattoos for the last three years that I've known about this place.

"I'm not much different from you, it seems," I say, "I didn't get a tattoo until just recently."

"Really?" Her mouth hangs open slightly; her lips look soft, "but you seem so... _tough._ " I feel a laugh, deep from my stomach.

"About as tough as a dull knife," I reply, shaking my head, "and I'm not sure tattoos define strength."

"What makes you say that?" Tris asks, she pokes my shoulder and all I feel is electricity, like a current between us, "you're strong..."

"Strong," I agree, nodding, "but not because of my tattoo."

"What _is_ your tattoo?"

"Would you wanna see it?" I ask quietly, immediately feeling self-conscious because if she says yes, I will have to show her.

"Yes," She finally says. I feel a smile out of nerves, but the look she gives me makes me feel less afraid; I reach for the top of my shirt and lift it over my head. I can't tell if it's the cool air or the look in her eyes sending the shivers down my skin.

I feel shyness creeping in, but before I turn to show her I say, "I don't let many people see me like this... I don't let _anybody_ , actually."

"I can't imagine why," she says softly, "Look at you..." I feel myself smile, an almost giddy high at her words. She doesn't see anything wrong with me—I am glad the ink on my back covers most of my imperfections, mistakes, and misunderstandings. "Wow... Four..."

I turn back to her, my fingers find hers easily now, "You don't have to call me Four, you know," I say.

"What do you want me to call you, then?" She looks confused.

"My real name is Tobias," I say after a moment, "everyone just knows me as Four around here because of the first fight I was in."

"Really?" Tris asks, "what happened?"

"Took me four seconds to knock this poor kid out..." I feel my face heat up; I don't like unnecessary violence, "It was actually an accident, I knew nothing about fighting really... the guy, Edward, that Max had running this place at the time chose me to fight and out of instinct I just went for it and I don't even remember how I hit him. I just remember seeing blood, and watching this kid fall to the ground..."

"Your first fight wasn't with Eric?"

"No," I shake my head, "Eric heard about my fight. He wanted to prove he was tougher."

"But you won," Tris says. I nod.

"Don't ask me how," I say with a small laugh, "I was scrawny. Probably a hundred and ten soaking wet, and I knew nothing about fighting. I just watched him, and I figured out when he would try to hit me."

"Sounds like you got lucky."

"Yeah," I say, "sounds like it." We fall into another silence, she watches the city. When I remember my shirt is off, I pick it up off the ground and I am about to put it back on when Tris says, " _Wait_ —."

"What?" I ask, giving her a look that is a mix between confused and amused. Her eyes don't move up or down, they just glance over my chest, my abdomen.

"I just—," she bites her lip.

"Just... _what?_ " I ask, deciding to take a little advantage of this moment. I see her hands at her sides, pulling at the bottom of her shirt again. "You can touch me," part of me can't believe I have just told her that, but the other half of me yearns for it. I pull her hand towards me, resting it just above my stomach, near my heart. The pulse in her fingertips throbs as quickly as my own; I can't tell if she is nervous or okay with this, but she doesn't pull away.

The skin of her fingers is cool, but her palm is warm against my searing skin. I can't help but shiver. When she looks up at me I can't read her eyes, but her expression is soft, it makes me relax. I decide to test it, and I wrap an arm around her waist, bringing her closer. At first, I am not sure if she is trying to push me away, but the second push is more forceful, though I am still stronger. I let go of her immediately, I can't read her expression.

"I'm sorry," I apologize quickly. I throw my shirt back on, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable..."

"You didn't..." She says quietly, "uh... it's all just new to me. I haven't been with anyone... like _that_..."

"Like what?" I frown, "like romantically? Or... sexually?"

"Both," she looks embarrassed. I swallow back the anger; I am not angry with her, but I am upset she would think so low of me. I refuse to get mad at her for it, though, when she barely knows anything about me. It wouldn't be fair.

"Tris," I start, shaking my head, "I wasn't going to do anything you didn't want me to do..." I feel compelled to tell her the truth, I don't want to hide anything else from her right now, "it's all new to me, too. You believe me, right?" She hesitates, but I can't imagine what she is feeling or thinking.

"I do," she replies, "I do..."

"I let you touch my chest, so you would be more at ease around me," I explain; I know it was wrong of me to assume that was what she wanted to do in the first place, "I would never touch you without your say so..."

"I believe you," She says more confidently.

"Good," I breathe in relief, "will you be back tomorrow?" _I really want to see you again_...

"Here?"

"At the pit," I say.

"I think so," She says. Please come back... I notice she shivers at the next breeze that comes through, so I carefully touch her arms, rubbing my palms along her skin to warm her up. She smiles, grateful, "Thank you..."

"You're welcome," I smile. Feeling more confident than I ever have, I spill my thoughts to her, "come back tomorrow, okay? I want to see you again." She blushes, biting her bottom lip.

"Okay."


	4. Boyfriend

**CHAPTER 4 – BOYFRIEND**  
 _Tris Prior's POV_

The next morning Uriah and I decide to have some fun in the practice room; we wait at lunch in the cafeteria for Lynn and Marlene to arrive. It is Sunday, so no classes today.

Marlene walks with a skip in her step; Uriah speaks to me about getting another tattoo, "Oh come on," Uriah says, nudging my arm, "it wasn't bad at all, getting that first one."

"No, it wasn't," I agree, "but I would prefer to still see my skin."

"I'm not saying get a sleeve," he replies, shaking his head. I shrug and turn back to my tray of untouched food. He reaches for the bread on the side and I don't smack his hand away this time. It's useless because he's relentless. Lynn sits down across from us, rolling an orange across the table at him. Uriah smirks, holding it between his palms, "Why did you give me this?"

"Because I don't like oranges," Lynn says. She looks to me, "hey Tris."

"Hey," I reply.

"Since when?" Uriah asks her. Lynn gives him an unamused look.

"Since forever," she says, "when have you ever seen me eat one?" Marlene takes the seat beside her.

"Why do you grab them if you don't eat them?"

"What are they arguing about?" Marlene asks me.

"An orange," I say, smirking a little. It's a ridiculous object to argue over, but somehow they make it look serious. Uriah tries to list of times when he's seen her with one, while she either denies or explains that she never ate them. I have to laugh.

"Hey," Marlene speaks up, staring intently at her muffin, "Uriah, does Zeke still have that plastic-pellet gun?"

Uriah shrugs, "Probably, why?"

Marlene smirks, "I bet that you can't shoot this muffin off my head from a hundred feet away." I see Uriah grin—a mischievous glint in his eye. He cracks his knuckles and leans across the table, practically getting in her face.

"I bet you can't stand still and let me shoot that muffin off your head from a hundred feet away," he says, straightening up after a minute. "I've got to go get the gun, but you can bet I'm not backing down from this one." He holds his hand out and Marlene gives it a firm shake. "You guys want to be witnesses?" Lynn is already on her feet, so I stand up and Marlene takes her muffin with her as we leave the school grounds.

Uriah leads us down a back entryway, and I notice that it's by the apartments. Four's is all the way down at the end—I look away from it, but I wonder if he's there right now.

Uriah pats his pockets, then looks between the three of us, "anyone got a pin?"

"What happened to your key?" Marlene asks.

"Must have dropped it," He shrugs, rolling his eyes at himself, "third key this year."

"Idiot," Lynn scoffs. She pulls a pin from her hair and hands it to him. He grins and turns, jamming it into the lock. After a few moments, there's a click and then the door opens, "you guys stay here and keep watch. If anyone finds you guys, just tell'em to come in and see me." Lynn rolls her eyes, but nods and we wait by the door.

"I wonder if Shauna's down here," Lynn says after a moment, pressing her ear to one of the doors; I assume it's Shauna's. But Lynn starts laughing, covering her mouth with her hands; after a moment she listens in again, "I think somebody's getting laid in there..." Marlene smacks her on the arm.

"What is wrong with you? Don't listen in!" Marlene hisses.

"Calm down, it's not like I'm gonna try and barge in on them..." Lynn retorts, rolling her eyes again, "but I bet you the door's unlocked."

"You're such a pervert," Marlene sighs.

"Hey Tris, wanna listen in?" Lynn smirks, offering room beside her. Marlene sighs beside me, shaking her head. I shake my head—I don't know much about sex, I'd prefer not to listen in. Though, with how quiet we're being I can hear some of what Lynn's listening in on. Lynn snorts, "Sound's like it's Lauren and..."

"Will you stop trying to guess who's room that is and what they're doing in private!?" Marlene asks, disgusted, "get away from there—!" Uriah's voice comes from the room then. He appears in the doorway, holding the gun up.

"You guys are being awfully loud for trying to sneak around... I got it by the— _what_ _is she doing?_ " He asks, pointing it at Lynn with a questioning look on his face.

"She's being a perv," Marlene frowns down at her muffin. Lynn backs up from the door, smirking.

"Chill out, Marlene. God, it's not like I was really doing anything..." she heads down the hallway and we follow her out. Uriah takes over then, and we found ourselves in a room full of targets, much like the one I stood in front of, punching bags, and tables with throwing knives and pellet guns laid out. "Ugh, I could have just grabbed one of these," Uriah whines.

"They're not even loaded," Lynn rolls her eyes, "you wouldn't have been able to use them."

"So this is the practice room," I say, glancing around. The more time I spend here, the more I realize that this compound is much bigger than I thought it was. The room smells faintly of sweat, wood, metal, and stale air. It's a little cold in the room, enough to make bumps rise on my bare arms, but not enough to bother me.

"Welcome to the training room," Uriah grins, flipping a switch on so all of the lights turn on. Marlene stands in front of one of the targets, placing the muffin on top of her head. She stands completely still while Uriah positions himself, holding the gun away from him, and stabilizing it with both hands.

"Just think, Mar," Lynn calls out, taunting, "if he misses you'll have a nice welt on your face." Marlene waves her off with a smirk, but holds her hand out before Uriah's finger squeezes the trigger.

" _Wait—!_ " She says, ripping a piece off the muffin. She pops it into her mouth and gives him a thumbs up. Her cheek puffs out at she chews, making her look like a chipmunk as she grins. We hear the sound of a door open, and Uriah curses, shoving the gun behind his back. We all turn to see Zeke, Shauna, and Four walk in. Four looks over at me.

I see he is already covered in sweat, as well as Shauna. He walks slow.

"How did I know it was you guys?" Zeke asks, shaking his head. Uriah relaxes, smirking. He turns back to Marlene and repositions himself, aiming the gun. One squeeze on the trigger and the pellet shoots out, ripping through the muffin and knocking it off Marlene's head. She didn't even flinch.

"What are you guys doing here?" Shauna questions, leaning against one of the tables, "you're lucky it was us who showed up and not Eric, or his cronies." Lynn just shrugs, Uriah blows a breath over the barrel of the gun like he is blowing away smoke, and Marlene rips another piece off the muffin, the part that didn't touch the floor.

I just stare between the three of them, and stop at Four's eyes.

"Shooting a muffin off Marlene's head," Uriah answers, spinning the gun around his finger. It accidentally hits the trigger and a pellet flies through the air, just missing Zeke's face.

"Give me that," Zeke says, holding his hand out for the gun, "how the hell did you get this?"

"From the apartment," Uriah shrugs.

"It was locked."

"The magic of a female's hair pin," Uriah smirks, looking quite proud of himself.

"You left your key on the floor this morning," Zeke says, shaking his head. He pauses briefly, then attacks Uriah and gets him into a headlock, roughly pressing his knuckles into Uriah's head. Uriah tries to swat at his arms, but Zeke is taller, more largely built than his little brother. After a moment, he releases him and Uriah fixes his shirt.

"You guys shouldn't be back here," Tobias says after a moment.

"You wouldn't tell on us," Uriah says; Four nods in agreement, but we know his statement stills stands. "Besides, you're back here now. Is it not okay with you if we hang out here?"

"Why do you want to?" Shauna asks.

"Why not? We'll be at the pit later tonight, only makes sense that we stay here." Lynn answers with another shrug. Shauna sighs, shaking her head slightly.

"Well...?" She looks at Four and Zeke as she says this. Zeke doesn't look bothered by the idea, and neither does Four. Zeke cracks his knuckles and heads over to one of the bags; Shauna follows him over, trailed by Lynn and Marlene. Uriah takes the pellet gun and goes over to the targets, aiming.

Four gives me a look before he heads over to the punching bags. My legs carry me after him; he grabs a roll of tape from the table at the far end and begins to wrap his fingers with it. I notice his knuckles are still blue and purple, with a red ring around the mix; but they look worse than last night. They're bruised pretty badly— _how often does he come here?_

I look over and see Zeke is having fun trying to show Shauna what to do, despite her telling him she knows how to fight. Lynn and Marlene are talking about something I can't quite hear, watching the two. Uriah fires off about five pellets, the only sound comes from the plastic bouncing off the target at the same force they hit at.

"How often do you come here?" I ask quietly, as Four takes the first punch. He briefly glances at me, and stabilizes the bag before hitting it again.

"Pretty often," he answers, "but usually just for fun. Zeke always likes to come down, so I go when he does." I nod, watching the muscles in his arms flex and relax with each hit. The tendons in his hands pop out as he clenches them, white-knuckled underneath the bruises. Sweat begins to gather down his neck and back again; across his forehead too.

"Does that hurt?" I say, pointing to his hands. He shakes them out, glancing down at the tape.

"Not really. You get used to it after a while." It looks like his hands should be numb by now, but he keeps going.

I don't understand what he finds fun about punching a bag thick as mattress foam, but I bite my lip and ask, "can I try it?" Tobias gives me an amused look, but steps back, reaching forward to stop it from moving.

"You want to?" He asks. I nod. Tobias moves back so I can stand where he was, and his hands find my bare shoulders. His hands are rough, but they're gentle as they rest there for a moment, positioning me. He adds pressure, saying quietly, "let your arms relax."

I release a breath and let my shoulders drop, "Good." He says, his chin just above my ear, "now—," he grabs my arms and holds them firm in front of my chest, one above the other, "—keep them up here; don't punch with your arms punch with your weight." He's still holding my arm when he demonstrates it.

I try a few hits, feeling the sting of contact in my knuckles. I briefly look down at the skin that's turned red. He lets me try again, standing behind me and occasionally correcting my stance. His hands straighten me at the waist, adding pressure to the small of my back and my abdomen, "keep tension here. It helps." I hear him, but I don't—I focus on the way his palms, cold and tough, hold me.

I can still feel the outline of his hands as he removes them from my body, correcting my arms again. I try to focus on what he says, but I can't stop thinking about the sparks in my stomach. I make a few good hits, but after a while I back down and let him go back to it.

" _Tris—!_ " Uriah calls, "wanna try?" He's holding the gun up, grinning. I laugh and after a moment I nod, taking one last look at Tobias, who nods me off, before I leave him at the bags. Uriah hands me the gun, stepping away. I glance up at the target—it's not that far away.

Uriah gets me settled, and steps to my right, out of the way. "Ready...aim... _fire!_ " He says; my finger squeezes the trigger and I watch as the green pellet hits the wood a few inches away from the blue. It leaves an indent in the material and then drops to the floor. "Not bad," he says, inching my arm over a little more, "now try it."

I go again, this time striking a hole through the blue; I hit the throat. I grin triumphantly, and Uriah lets me fire off a few more before Zeke, Shauna, and Four head over to the door, "people are probably filling up the pit now. We should go," Four says, kicking the door open with his foot. He holds it with one arm as we file out of the room. I'm last—or second to last since Four walks behind me after turning the lights off and closing the door. Uriah walks at my side, pretending to aim the gun at the back of Zeke's head, smirking at me as he does it.

"Sooo," Lynn sing-songs, throwing an arm around my shoulder as the boys leave us, "what was all that about?" I know what she's talking about, the blush creeping in to my face, but I try to act dumb anyway.

"What?" I ask. Lynn rolls her eyes.

"You're a horrible liar," she says bluntly, "Four may have been showing you what to do, but that didn't look like it was the only thing happening." Marlene nods, her expression just as questioning.

"I don't know," I answer with a shrug. "He was showing me how to hit." They share a knowing, cocky look.

"His hands were all over you," Marlene states, smirking, "don't even try to lie about that." I sigh, shaking my head at them.

"O-kay... but he was showing me what to do."

"Ugh can you just be a girl for a second?" Marlene whines, shaking me by my shoulders.

"I'm always a girl," I mutter, frowning.

"Fair point, but you're not acting like a girl," Lynn says, "unless you're around Four." I look up at her, curiously.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"A girl will always act like a girl when she's around a guy she likes," Lynn answers, "simple as that."

"It's not that obvious," I mumble.

"Okay, whatever you say," Lynn throws her hands up in mock surrender, "we'll get you to talk some other time, we're holding you to that." I shake my head as they wander off, and listen in on one of Uriah's stories.

 **xxxxx**

The pit is not full when we head down; Eric is having two boys set up the mats, Tori stands above them on the landing with Christina at her side. I notice a new bandage on her shoulder, she must have gotten a new tattoo.

Christina joins us, her smile as wide as ever, "I got a new tattoo!"

"I can see that," I laugh, "can I see what is it?" She peels back the bandage to reveal a symbol that matches one on Tobias's back. I'm not sure she knows about his tattoo, but Tori must.

"Do you like it?" Christina asks.

"Of course," I say with a smile, "I love it."

"Maybe you should get the same one," she jokes, "I'll happily go with you."

"I'm tattooed out at the moment," I say, shaking my head, "my brother doesn't even know about this first one, yet."

"Are you ever gonna tell him?" She smirks, "It's kind of an eye sore, don't you think? As soon as he sees you, he's gonna know."

I roll my eyes.

"Of course I'll tell him. I won't be able to hide it, anyways. But he never leaves the library so until he does, this will remain unknown to him."

Sometime later, the first fight starts. I don't pay any attention to it as I search the crowds for Tobias. I don't know where he went after we split up earlier. Uriah is in the second fight tonight, and he is up against Al. I love Al as a friend, but he drags his feet in the fight and I find myself hoping for Uriah to win—I feel terrible rooting for one and not the other, but I feel in my gut that Uriah has the upper hand here.

Marlene and Lynn cheer for Uriah, too; I imagine because they really don't know Al. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see Tobias. His clothes are dark instead of the light grey he wore earlier. His smile is sincere as he stands in front of me.

"Do you want to stay here?" He asks over the noise, but makes sure only I can hear his question.

"Where did you have in mind?" I ask.

"Somewhere quieter," Tobias says, his hand finds the small of my back and he leads me through the crowd. We find ourselves in a dark corridor, but I know he knows where to go. I hear rushing water the closer we get, and the air gets much colder the lower we get.

There is some light around us, I'm not sure where it comes from; maybe the pit above, or at the very end of the corridor. It's not much quieter down here, but it's not as loud as voices yelling over each other either. The water rushes beneath us, I watch as Tobias sits down on a dry rock and motions for me to join him.

"This wasn't what I thought you meant when you said quieter," I joke; he looks a bit unsure.

"We can go somewhere else—,"

"—No, no," I shake my head, "I like it down here."

"Okay," he breathes a sigh of relief I only see and don't hear over the water, "I have a few questions. I'm hoping you can answer them for me."

I nod and I rub my palms across my thighs, trying to warm them up.

"Well, for one, is Tris your real name? Or just a nickname?" The question is so innocent, I feel a bubble of laughter in my throat.

"Beatrice... that's my real name," I say, biting into my lip. I don't hate my name, but it feels too formal to introduce myself.

"You said you transferred from New York," Tobias says, "but your parents stayed there. Do you have any family out here?" If I do, my parents have never mentioned them; besides my uncle, who's funeral we attended when I was only about six. I don't really want to mention that to Tobias, I'm afraid it'll dampen the mood.

"Just my brother," I say, twisting my fingers together, "he came with me."

"What's he like?" He asks, curiously.

"He's incredibly smart," I say, feeling a small swell of jealousy, "He's about a year older than me. We don't really argue... _ever_ ," I laugh, remembering all of the times Caleb wanted to get mad at me, but decided against it, "He gives me advice, or suggestions, but I think we've started growing apart, since getting here. He's always off in the library, or the science labs. He just loves school."

"It's easy for him," Tobias nods, watching me intently, "Do you have a favorite subject?"

"History," I say a little too quickly, "We are supposed to learn from our mistakes in the past, but often times our mistakes are repeated." He nods along with what I say, and we fall into a comfortable silence, listening to the rushing water below.

"Can I ask you a ridiculous question?" He asks, looking shy.

"You just did." His demeanor makes me smirk; what ridiculous question could possibly make him shy? Unless he is about to ask me something personal. Tobias rolls his eyes at my answer, but smiles in response.

"Do you have a favorite color?" The innocence of the question catches me off guard, and suddenly I understand why he called it ridiculous. He awaits my answer, looking almost in a daze. His eyes look so blue, I wonder if it's because of the water.

I blurt, without really thinking, "...blue." Immediately, I blush and look away before he can tell.

"What's so embarrassing about blue?" He asks, humor in his voice. _Crap, he did notice_ , "Come on," Tobias laughs, his fingers tuck a strand of hair back behind my ear, "If you want to know mine, it's the gold in your hair." When I look into his eyes, I see something I'm not familiar with; something carnal, like a want.

I blush harder, deciding if he really wants to know, then I've got nothing to lose, "...your eyes are blue."

"They are," He jokes, copying my response from earlier. I roll my eyes, but laugh regardless.

"You seem very cocky when someone compliments you," I say. He continues to play with my hair.

"Only when that someone is you," He says, softly.

"What are you saying?" I ask as his lips rest on the top of my head. He breathes in.

"I'm saying that I like you," Tobias admits. My heart pounds in my ears, loud—louder than the water in the chasm.

"But you're older than me," I say, dumbfounded.

"Yes, that two-year gap really is insurmountable," He jokes. He lifts my hand to his chest, placing it over his heart. His heart rate matches mine, "You make me nervous too, Tris."

"Why me? I'm not pretty..." I say, as I look at him. He is gorgeous; tall and handsome, athletic and strong. Tobias gives me a look I can't read.

"I don't know if I could answer that," He shrugs, "You don't see yourself clearly. You are pretty, Tris. More than pretty." My eyes meet his as he speaks, and I realize that he is serious. His words are kind, his smile is sincere.

"I don't want things to go too fast," I say.

"Of course," Tobias nods, "You can set the pace."

I breathe, feeling calm; the way he speaks tells me he is willing to listen to my cues, but the way he is looking at me almost tells me something else.

"You have to tell me when something is wrong," He says, his fingers give my hand a light squeeze. He leans his face closer to mine, his lips press a kiss to my temple, "And one last thing... are you afraid of me?" He asks me this so quietly, I almost don't hear him over the sound of the water. But his lips are at my ear; his voice shakes, and I can tell he's just as nervous as me now. We both anticipate my answer.

I find my voice, and say, "Not of you... but of _this_." _This_ as in us. As in relationships in general. _This_ could be the start of an end, or something more; both of which scare me, I don't know which could hurt me more.

"Just remember, it's still new to me," He says, softly, "You're not alone." He presses a kiss to my forehead, light as a feather. I'm not sure how long I've waited for this, for someone to show me just how much they could care about another human being. For a moment, he pulls back and I catch myself looking from his eyes to his lips. They look soft. Tobias hesitates, a small dip forms between his brows, before he brushes his nose along my cheek, along my jaw, and carefully he brushes his lips against mine. At first, I'm not sure it even happened, I keep my eyes closed, anticipating. But then his fingers caress my cheek, and a second later he is kissing me harder, more confidence in his attempt.

It is over before I want it to be. I pull away, my throat dry and my lungs burning for air. I forgot to breathe, I only focused on his lips.

"Was that too much?" He asks, a shadow of worry in his features. I shake my head—in fact it was not enough.

"Does this make you my boyfriend, Tobias?" I ask, a sense of shyness washing over me.

"I'd like it to," he says, his voice calm. I feel the smile creep across my face, and I nod.

"Okay."

 **xXxXx**

I find Christina and the others a while later; Al and Will have called it a night, Christina, Uriah, Marlene, and Tori are locked up in the tattoo parlor. They sit around in separate corners; I hear their laughter from down the corridor.

"Where have _you_ been?" Christina asks as soon as she notices me; her short hair is pulled back, her arms are bare, with all of her tattoos exposed.

"With Four," Uriah grins, wiggling his eyebrows. I try to bite back the blush from creeping in, but I'm not sure it works. Christina pats the chair beside her.

"We have some things to talk about," she sing-songs, "I wanna know the details."

"Alright, I'm out," Uriah says, holding his hands up in mock surrender, "I'm not about girl talk; Four is like a brother to me, that's just gonna get weird."

"Oh come on," Tori rolls her eyes, "You don't wanna listen in and find something new to make fun of Four with, like _always_?"

"Don't worry," he smirks, "I'll just torture answers out of him some other time. Later." As he leaves, I feel like a piece of meat thrown to the sharks. Marlene, Tori, and Christina all stare at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something.

"So?" Marlene asks, her grin illuminates her entire face. "Did you guys kiss?"

"What was that like?" Christina nods. I feel beet red, all I can do is shrug my shoulders.

"Details now!" Marlene says, bouncing in the chair. I roll my eyes.

"I thought I was gonna have just Christina to deal with later," I sigh, but I can't contain my smile soon after, "We... _kissed_."

"Who kissed who?"

I feel a bubble of laughter, "he kissed me." I hear Tori snort, her shoulders shake with quiet laughter.

"I've known Four since high school, and not once did he ever go after a girl, or try to kiss one. Must be something with you Stiffs—like a magnet."

"Four doesn't have any tattoos?" Christina cries, shocked.

"He _didn't_ ," Tori says casually.

"Did he show you it?" Marlene asks me.

"I can't believe only two people in this room know what Four's tattoo looks like," Christina says, shaking her head, "Where is it?"

I bite my lip, "It's on his back." Tori nods.

"What does it look like?"

"More ink than skin," I say, replaying that night in my head.

"Did he have to take his shirt off?" Christina grins, falling back in her seat with a wicked grin. I feel my face getting hot. I think I would give just about anything to see him like that again.

"Yes..." I say almost inaudibly. Marlene and Christina burst into a fit of squeals and giggles, while Tori and I exchange a look.

"Everybody has a crush on Four," Tori says, shaking her head.

"Yeah, but he only has eyes for Tris," Marlene says, propping herself up on her knees.

 **xxxxx**

Sometime later, Marlene and Christina decide to head back to the school to get some sleep. Tori wakes me up from the chair.

"You do realize it's past two in the morning, right?" Tori asks me. I look up at the clock on the wall—she is right.

"How could I have known when I was sleeping," I say, giving her a look. She rolls her eyes, but smiles anyways.

"Yeah, whatever," she says, "I don't think Christina and Mar are very far ahead." She turns the lock on the parlor doors, opening one for me. I watch her for a moment, a question comes to mind and I know she has the answer.

"Can I ask you something?"

She lets the door shut, and leans against the glass, "Sure."

"You said you've known To— _Four_ , since high school—,"

"—You can call him by his real name in front of me," she smirks, "trust me, before Shauna and you came along, I was pretty much the only other female he had any sort of relationship with," I don't feel a flare of jealousy as she admits this; Tori seems to see him as her brother, and vice versa.

"Right," I say with a nod, "So you've know him a long time... what was he like back then?"

"Not much different," she shrugs, "Maybe a little quieter, less known. He still keeps to himself, but I think he's learned to let certain people in. You, for example," she waves a hand at me, then laughs to herself, "I'm sure Uriah has mentioned, he's never been with another girl. Poor Four... Uriah and Zeke always used to set dates up for him. They had good intentions, but they could never find a decent enough girl for him—someone equal to him. Most of them were vain, shallow, bitchy... narcissistic. The list goes on," Tori sighs, shaking her head again.

"When did he get his tattoo?" I ask.

"I finished it the day he had to throw those knives at you," she replies easily. Her answer catches me off guard; I don't remember any signs of it that night, I couldn't even tell he was in pain— _maybe he barely noticed it himself?_ "Alright, I'll answer any other questions you have at a later time. It's already very late."

I thank her and head to the main area, making sure Eric is nowhere to be seen.

 **xXxXx  
** _Tobias Eaton's POV_

After a run down to the pier, through the city, and back, my legs are tired but Zeke wants to get some more hit practice in, so we head down to the training room. Shauna keeps trying to get Zeke to carry her on his back, and they wrestle about it behind me. Over their noise, I can't tell if I actually hear voices in the room or not. I frown, pushing it open and expecting to see Eric and his friends, but instead I see Uriah aiming at Marlene across the room, with Lynn and Tris against a table to the far right. They all jump, startled and Uriah hides his arms behind his back.

Silver eyes meet mine across the room. I am actually stunned to see her here—the others, not so much.

Zeke comes to a halt behind me, "How did I know it was you guys?" He asks. They visibly relax the moment they realize it's us, and Uriah grins—he turns back to Marlene and fires. The muffin that was on her head hits the floor. I notice the gun he's holding is like the ones we used to keep around the compound for fun; there's no way it's is; undoubtedly, it's Zeke's.

"What are you guys doing here?" Shauna asks, leaning against the closest table, "you're lucky it was us who showed up and not Eric, or his cronies." Lynn shrugs her off.

"Shooting a muffin off Marlene's head," Uriah replies. He's spinning the gun around his finger, but he accidentally squeezes the trigger and sends a small, green pellet off in our direction. Zeke dodges it, knocking into me. Zeke stands upright, holding his hand out as he walks closer to his brother.

"Give me that," he says. "How the hell did you get this?"

Uriah shrugs, "from your apartment." Shauna smirks, shaking her head. I grin—Zeke really needs to understand that he can't brother-proof the apartment while he's not there; it never works.

"It was locked."

He grins and says, "the magic of a female's hair pin." He looks so proud of himself.

"You left your key on the floor this morning," Zeke says, shaking his head. Zeke gets him into a headlock, wrestling with him for a few minutes before Uriah manages to free himself and stand up.

"You guys shouldn't be back here," I say.

"You wouldn't tell on us," _Uriah's right_ ; I nod, but I don't take back what I said. They were down here without us originally—if it hadn't been us who walked in, they'd be in trouble. "Besides, you're back here now. Is it not okay with you if we hang out here?"

Shauna speaks up, asking, "why do you want to?"

"Why not?" Lynn says, "We'll be at the pit later tonight, only makes sense that we stay here." She stands at Shauna's side now, and it surprises me that she's the same age as Uriah—I had forgotten that, given she's almost taller than Shauna now. Though Lynn doesn't look like Shauna much, except for her eyes and her jawline. She's a light brunette, but her hair's not nearly as blonde as Shauna's.

They definitely fight like sister's though. I can think of the few times Zeke has had to pry Shauna away just to keep Lynn's piercings in her skin.

Shauna sighs and turns to us, "well?" Zeke doesn't care much; I nod once. They head over to the bags while Uriah seeks out the target boards. Tris is watching me as I go over to one of the punching bags all the way at the end. My knuckles are swollen, black and blue and purple, but I wrap the tape around them anyway and start throwing punches.

I see a small body come up beside me; long, blonde hair being pushed back and I know it's her. She watches me for a few minutes, then asks, "how often do you come here?" I steal a glance at her; her eyes are bright as always, curious. They are looking at my hands though.

"Pretty often," I answer, "but usually just for fun. Zeke always likes to come down, so I go when he does." She nods, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Does that hurt?" She asks, looking at my hands. The bruises are hard to miss—I glance down at them, briefly, before shaking them out.

I shake my head, "not really, you get used to it after a while." I go again.

"Can I try?" I don't hold back my smile; just by looking at her, I know she won't be able to do much. Not that I'm saying she's not capable of it, but she's weak, physically. I decide I'll humor her, and let her try. It gives me the excuse to spend some time with her.

"You want to?" She nods, so I step back and let her take my place. I touch her shoulders, trying to fix her stance but she tenses up the moment I do, and I realize I probably shouldn't have done it. But I'm merely showing her what to do, and she relaxes slightly. I add some pressure to her shoulders, "let your arms relax." She does, and I nudge her feet apart a little more.

"Good," she's positioned almost perfectly now, "now—," I reach over her shoulders and circle her wrists, pulling her arms up to defend herself. One less bad habit to break. "—keep them up here; don't punch with your arms, punch with your weight." I show her how to; my fingers are gripping at the bend in her arm as I push it forward toward the bag.

She tries some on her own, losing her stance in between. I correct her arms a few more times, and she starts to get the hang of it. A momentary lapse in focus, I straighten her around the waist, pushing against her. In anything I've noticed her wearing, anything that hugs her the right way, she has always looked solid; not an ounce of anything else on her, but as my fingers hold her in place I notice her waist is soft. I hear her breath catch in her throat, and she looks up at me for a moment. I clear my throat, "keep tension here. It helps." _Nice cover up_.

Tris goes again, getting better, but eventually she steps back and lets me take over again. I was enjoying just watching her; the severe concentration on her face, the pout in her lips when she didn't quite hit it hard enough. Uriah calls her over then, and from the corner of my eye I see her nod, and then she's gone.

I stop after a minute, and turn around to watch; she's holding the gun, but she's fires it and misses the first time. "Not bad," Uriah says, nodding. He pushes the neck of it over some, just with the tips of his fingers and has her start again. This time, she hits the target dead on.

Tris grins, and her whole face lights up with it. She fires off a few more, only missing once; I don't know how long I watch her for, but Zeke taps my shoulder, saying we have to get going. He's needed at the security room, and I have to start patrolling the main area soon; we start heading for the door and I turn to the others, "people are probably filling in now. We should go." I catch the door with my foot, and they start to file out of the room.

Tris is second to last, I follow her out.

She walks with Uriah, who's aiming the gun at the back of Zeke's head, pretending to fire off pellets. Tris laughs, her shoulders shaking from it. I imagine, if it were anybody else but Uriah, I would feel a flare of jealousy.

"Sooo," I hear Lynn say obnoxiously, throwing an arm around Tris's shoulders, "what was all that about?" I want to stay and listen, but I have to change and meet with Tori before I head down.

 **xxxxx**

"Max dropped off our paychecks," Tori grins, holding three envelopes, "I grabbed yours and Eric's." I thank her, and she begins to rip open her envelope.

Eric walks in, taking his envelope from Tori.

"Did you happen to see Max today?" He asks, "I've got some ideas I wanted to run by him."

"Uh oh," I mutter, peering up to see Eric giving me a hard glare.

"Something wrong, _Four_?" He sneers, "I was thinking of some beneficial ideas, to bring more people in."

"We already can't keep track of half the people you bring in here," I say. He leans across the table at me, his form of intimidation—he forgets, I could stand up.

"It's not my fault you're not around to do your job," Eric retorts, "Too busy catching something for a _Stiff_."

"That's enough, Eric," Tori sighs, rolling her eyes. She raises a brow at him, smirking as she says, "You both could learn to patrol the floor a little better."

"I have my half under control," he says, his voice low.

"Out of fear," I snort, "Intimidation... if that's what you call control."

"I would have cut more than just her ear, Four," he grins, "You don't have control when you show that much leniency."

"My intentions were to scare her," I lie easily, then say, "not kill her."

"Funny, you and I seem to differ on what scaring is."

"You and I tend to differ in more ways than that," I say, standing up now. I could fight him right now, show him who has more control—but this kind of anger reminds me of my father. His control was intimidation... _brutality_.

"Oohh," Eric holds his hands up, a wicked grin on his face, "Relax, Four. If she's nothing to you, why get so defensive?"

"Eric, that's enough," Tori warns, her voice harsh.

"Okay," he says, looking between the both of us, "Didn't mean to step on any toes. If Max comes back, let me know." With that, he exits. Tori and I stand in silence, watching the door until he is gone.

"You know, if you want to keep this girl out of his sights you might want to keep from dangling her vulnerability right in front of his eyes." Tori says, shaking her head.

"Because I defended her?"

"Eric is like a wild animal," she says, "show him a piece of meat, he's gonna hunt for it. I know you'd like to think he'll give up tormenting you eventually, but that's not who he is. I thought you'd learned that by now."

"I have," I reply with conviction. Tori watches me for a moment, then nods. Without another word, I leave the room too.

 **xXxXx**

I make my way to the pit a little while later. It is packed when I arrive; Uriah is fighting a boy twice his size, but somehow he is winning.

I see Marlene and Lynn, cheering Uriah on; Tris stands with them, watching the fight intently. The last thing I ever want to see Tris try here, is going up against someone in one of Eric's matches. The closer I get, the more nervous I feel suddenly. My fingers itch to hold her hand again. When I am right behind her, I tap her shoulder twice. She turns to face me, a smile stretching across her face. I lean my head down, so my lips are purposefully at her ear.

"Do you want to stay here?" I ask her.

"Where did you have in mind?" She looks at me with curiosity, and something else.

"Somewhere quieter," I say. After a moment, she nods, and my hand finds the small of her back. I lead her away from the crowds, the noise, until we are walking side by side down to the chasm. I replay Eric's, and Tori's words from earlier in my head—I'm finding, very quickly, that I don't care about Eric's taunts. I will protect her from him, regardless of if it makes his games more exciting. I hear the rushing water below, and the air around us grows cold.

I cross jagged, wet rocks until I find the driest one above the calmest water below. I help Tris across the last rock, and she laughs when she is no longer in danger of falling, "This wasn't what I thought you meant when you said quieter," she teases.

"We can go somewhere else—," I suggest, but immediately she shakes her head.

"—No, no. I like it down here."

"Okay," I say. She sits down beside me, resting on her hands behind her, "I have a few questions. I'm hoping you can answer them for me." Tris nods, then straightens up like she thinks we are going to get serious. I watch her as she tries smooth at her jeans, and then I realize it is because she is cold.

"Well, for one, is Tris your real name? Or just a nickname?" I briefly remember our first night, when Eric was cornering her; I had asked her for her name. She started saying something else, but told me 'Tris'.

"Beatrice... that's my real name," she says, biting her lip. _Beatrice_. It is a lovely name, but it sounds too old for her. _Tris_ is fitting.

"You said you transferred from New York," I ask, "but your parents stayed there. Do you have any family out here?"

"Just my brother," She says, twisting her fingers together in her lap, "he came with me."

"What's he like?" It isn't my original line of questions, but she seems anxious.

"He's incredibly smart," Tris says, "He's about a year older than me. We don't really argue... _ever_ ," she laughs, "He gives me advice, or suggestions, but I think we've started growing apart, since getting here. He's always off in the library, or the science labs. He just loves school."

"It's easy for him," it's not a question, but Tris nods, a small smile on her lips. As I look at her, I find myself admiring how even the smallest shift in her expressions can easily give away her emotions. It's charming, her emotions make her; it is almost easy to tell what she is thinking. _She feels inadequate, compared to him_. I decide to keep my questions directed at her, "Do you have a favorite subject?"

"History," she replies immediately, "We are supposed to learn from our mistakes in the past, but often times our mistakes are repeated." I wonder if she says that a lot, it almost sounds like she is reciting it from something. But I understand why it fascinates her.

"Can I ask you a ridiculous question?"

Tris smirks, and says, "You just did." I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"Do you have a favorite color?" I bite the inside of my cheek; I want to tell her mine is the silver in her eyes, or the warm gold of her hair, but I can't decide between the two.

She bites her lip; it makes me want to kiss her, because her lips look soft as her teeth sink into them. But I have to shake the thought from my head. I see a light blush rise to her skin, and she averts her eyes away from me, "...blue."

I wonder what her reaction means; if it is possible she likes me too.

"What's so embarrassing about blue?" I ask, unable to keep the smile from my voice. She nudges my shoulder, shaking her head, "Come on," I say, laughing. I feel a bit of courage in my chest, and bring my hand up to tuck her hair back. I say, "If you want to know mine, it's the gold in your hair," her eyes flicker to mine. _And the silver mixing with green in your eyes_...

Her skin turns bright pink, and she says, softly, "...your eyes are blue." I feel warmth spreading through my chest, filling me up in the most coldest of places.

"They are," I joke, watching her rolls her eyes. She laughs to herself.

"You seem very cocky when someone compliments you," she teases. My fingers play with the lock of her hair; I twist it around my fingers, gently, her eyes following the movements.

"Only when that someone is you," I say.

"What are you saying?" she asks. I have nothing to lose, except maybe her company if I scare her away. But she chose to sit here with me, above hazardous water, where nobody can find us. I press my lips to the top of her head, breathing her in like she is air and I can't get enough.

"I'm saying that I like you," I tell her, pulling back to look at her. She bites her lip again, and this time I recognize it as nerves.

"But you're older than me," she says after a moment. For a moment, I wonder if that is her only knowledge on love—or feelings... maybe _love_ is too strong a word right now.

"Yes, that two-year gap really is insurmountable," I joke, watching as her eyes fall to our hands between us on the rock. I take her hand in mine and lift it to my chest, above my heart. It beats faster under her touch, and I know she can feel it, "You make me nervous too, Tris."

"Why me?" She asks, "I'm not pretty..." _Oh, if only you could see through my eyes, Tris_... I am baffled to hear her say she is not pretty—why would she tear herself down after what I've just told her?

"I don't know if I could answer that," I tell her with a shrug. It's almost like a magnetic pull, but it wasn't just one thing about her that intrigued me. It was how wide her eyes were when Eric cornered her, the relief I saw in them when she noticed me. It was how honest she was when I asked her why it happened in the first place. Her bravery for standing there as I threw knives at her; it was selfless, taking the place of her best friend. How kind she can be at any given moment. It's how perceptive she can be, she figures things out on her own; she is not just book smart, she is wiser in different ways, "You don't see yourself clearly," I tell her, shaking my head, "You _are_ pretty, Tris. More than pretty." When my eyes flicker up to hers again, I see something I haven't seen before—like a longing. _She makes self-control hard, looking at me like that_...

"I don't want things to go too fast," she says, quietly.

"Of course," I tell her, "You can set the pace."

She breathes a sigh of relief, a smile stretching across her face. Her teeth bite down on her lip again, and this time I can't look away.

"You have to tell me when something is wrong," I say. I let our hands fall from my chest, but I do not let go. I lean close to her face; my lips against her temple, her ear, "And one last thing... are you afraid of me?"

Tris is silent for a few moments, her trepidation flows like the waves beneath our feet. "Not of you..." she finally says, "but of this."

"Just remember, it's still new to me," I say softly, "You're not alone." I press a kiss to her forehead, glad to be this free with her now. Her grip is just a little tighter now, and I notice her eyes go back and forth between mine and my lips. For a moment, I hesitate on what I should do. I lean in close, brushing my nose along her cheek, her jaw, and slowly I brush my lips across hers. I hold my breath, and I believe she does too, but she doesn't pull away.

I touch her cheek where my lips grazed a few seconds ago, or maybe minutes, I can't tell. I want to slow this moment down; I want to keep her here just a little longer. This time, I kiss her harder, finding my breath again. Her lips are soft like I imagined.

We fumble through the kiss, but we become more coordinated the longer I keep her in my reach, the more I slow it down. She breaks it first, her chest lightly heaving with each breath. I think she forgot to breathe.

"Was that too much?" I ask. Tris shakes her head, her skin flustered. She looks more beautiful now, a bit disoriented and blushing.

"Does this make you my _boyfriend_ , Tobias?" She asks, shyly.

"I'd like it to," I say.

She smiles, "Okay."

 **xxxxx**

For what follows, we sit and talk and kiss a little more, deep within the chasm. I walk Tris back to the pit, and steal one last kiss in the shadows, before she heads off to find Christina, or Uriah.

That night I find myself dreaming about her laughter, and the way her eyes peeked open after I kissed her, like I would disappear if she opened them completely.

It is the best night's sleep I have had in a long time.

 **xXxXx**

Before Tris, it was usually just Zeke and Shauna, and occasionally Uriah, I trusted my thoughts with. Before her, I preferred the silence and isolation because I was used to it all my life. But now since I met her, I don't want to hide away and forget how she makes me feel. Before her, the urge to hold a girl's hand, or to kiss a girl, rarely occurred to me. There were no warm stirrings in my stomach that became violent bursts of excited anxiety, and there were no absentminded touches. And it's only been with her that these feelings come alive.

I find myself in an almost obnoxious happiness the next morning. I head to the control room for my shift, Zeke is already sitting at a monitor when I arrive.

"Long night?" Zeke asks me, a smirk on his face.

"Not really," I shrug, "Why?"

"Your poker face is shameful," he scoffs. I roll my eyes.

"Not a long night," I repeat, then lift a shoulder, "but a good one."

"Out with the stiff?" He gives me a knowing look. I shake my head.

"You do realize we can no longer call her that, right?"

"I know," Zeke says, rolling his eyes this time, "Force of habit. So... what happened? Are you two together now?"

"Actually, yes," I retort, grinning to myself. I think back to last night, our first kiss by the chasm. I zone out most of what Zeke says, only to hear him finish with...

"We'll see how long she puts up with you."

"You know, your lack of confidence in me is _very_ reassuring," I say, feeling indignant. I'm almost positive he's referring to all of the other girls he's set me up with; Tris is different. _Much_ different.

"Well, you're not exactly nice," he says, then he adds, "sometimes."

"I'm not gonna offend her," I grumble, defensively. Though I don't know that for sure. All I know is that I can try, and for what it's worth, she doesn't seem to be too easily offended.

"I'm happy for you, man," Zeke says after a few moments, peeking over at me from his monitor. I see the hint of a smile in his features, the computer blocks half of his face. I nod in thanks, and turn on the monitor in front of me.


	5. Rise

**Chapter 5 – Rise**  
 _Tris Prior's POV_

I am determined to get to breakfast.

However, Christina is determined to get me into a tighter shirt.

She finds seven different shirts, just about throwing them at my head. "Why do I have to wear these now?" I ask, lifting the shirt I had on, originally, over my head. "I'm not gonna see him until later." And even then, wearing a shirt that shows just how pin straight I am isn't exactly what I want him to see me in.

"Humor me, at least." Christina pleads, crossing her arms over her chest. I roll my eyes, but decide I have nothing to lose; I put the first shirt on, and bumps rise alone my arms. I can't tell if I'm cold from the lack of sleeves, or if I'm embarrassed by the same factor.

"Definitely not," I say, shaking my head. The bones in my shoulders stick out too far for my liking; I turn away from the mirror, glancing down at the shirt. The neck is too low, just barely covering the top of my chest, "are you sure this even fits me?"

"It fits you, trust me," Christina replies, "you're just not in the right mindset, wearing it."

"I can see why," I mutter, pulling it over my head like mine. She hands me the next one; this one is a little better. It's not as tight as the last one, but it fits like a muscle shirt. Single, leather grey stripes run down the sides, while the black material over the rest of the shirt feels like a nylon. The only problem is that my bra shows through it. "I would need a tank top under this."

"No! Why?" Christina asks, incredulously, "that shirt looks good on you. Besides, you're supposed to wear it that way." _Great_. But another problem: I don't ooze the sex appeal to wear this shirt, _at all_.

"Don't you have anything normal?" I shiver, standing in the middle of the room without my shirt on. Christina foregoes a few of the shirts on her bed and hands me another one, this time solid black, with the sleeves made of a similar, silver nylon material.

I put the shirt on, instantly admiring the way it clings to my body; it actually doesn't make me look pin straight. I can see the skin of my arms through the sleeves, but the material is warm. Christina hums in approval, nodding. "It looks good on you. Not as sexy as the others, but I am taking you shopping later so we can get you more clothes." I roll my eyes, but I decide not to argue with her.

By the time we get down to the cafeteria for breakfast, we only have about twenty minutes before class starts. Marlene and Lynn sit across from Uriah, with Will to his right and Al sitting uncomfortable on the edge of his seat—he almost looks afraid of Lynn.

"What took you guys so long?" Uriah asks. I take the seat on his other side, Christina sits down beside Will.

"Her wardrobe needs updating," Christina says, simply.

"My wardrobe," I sigh, "is fine."

"For the single life," Christina retorts. I give her a glare, and she sticks her tongue out at me.

"I don't see you wearing that stuff on a daily basis," I tell her, shaking my head. Christina grins, shrugging a shoulder.

"That's because you don't see Will when I am wearing them," she says suggestively, earning a loud 'gross!' from Uriah, a gasp from Marlene, and Al blushing at the thought.

"You're unbelievable," I say, feeling laughter in my stomach as my face grows warm. Leave it to Christina to be brutally honest.

"I'm heading to class," Uriah shakes his head, standing up from his seat, "anyone care to join me?" Marlene stands, holding her arm out like she is waiting for him to take it; and he does.

"We should be going too," Will says. He picks his tray up and dumps it, doing the same for Christina. Al follows them out, while Lynn and I walk to class side by side. She tells me about her sister, and their most recent argument—something about a boy.

 **xxxxx**

Uriah sits exactly two seats away from me in our history exam. He tries to subtly cheat off of Lynn, and gives me cues for when to give him the correct answers. It's a bit comical; he admitted on the walk here he forgot to study—he stole Marlene's notes right out of her hands for some last minute cramming.

Somehow, Lynn manages to sneak a note his way. When he opens it, his expression is priceless; Lynn snorts, loudly, and almost gets herself caught because of it. I try to keep my head down, and I finish my exam rather quick.

I wait for the others to finish, Lynn emerging first, followed by Christina, then Marlene, and then Uriah. He throws the piece of paper at Lynn's feet, "What was that for?"

"I'm not getting caught for your cheating just because you didn't study," Lynn says, laughing to herself. Christina picks up the paper, and her eyes grow wide. I'm not sure I want to read what Lynn wrote.

She passes the note to Marlene, and Marlene bursts into a fit of giggles, clutching at her stomach. Uriah groans, snatching the note from her hands. He rips it into pieces and stomps on it, looking relatively similar to a child throwing a fit.

"You could have just hid your paper like a normal person!" He cries.

"Where's the fun in that?" Lynn taunts. Uriah frowns, shaking his head again.

When Marlene's laughter dies down, she wipes the tears from her eyes and sighs. She throws an arm around Uriah's shoulders, ignoring his attempts to push her away, "I'm sorry I laughed, I was not expecting that."

"Yeah, yeah," he groans, "Whatever. I'll get you back Lynn, no worries."

Lynn smirks, "bring it."

 **xXxXx**

 _I will be seeing Tobias in only a short amount of time_. The thought makes my heart race all over again. Christina has almost poked my eye out twice, because sitting still is not an option today.

She shoots me a look, then stands back to look at her work. I take the second I have to shake my hands out, relieving some of the tension from my body. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, basically just fidgeting to fidget as if it'll get rid of my nerves. It was easier when I assumed his feelings weren't the same—I always thought it would be easier when the other person knew.

"Wanna jump tonight?" Christina jokes; I give her a hard look and she laughs. With how nervous I am, I don't need the added adrenaline. My heart is already in my throat, it wouldn't do me any good to add my stomach. "Wow. I have never seen you this nervous. Are you okay? You're not gonna explode, or something, right?"

"I don't know." I shake my head. Christina grabs my shoulders, shaking me until my nerves are replaced by nausea. Though I appreciate her trying to rid me of my anxiety.

"Feel better?"

"Not really," I say.

"You are gonna see Four, and you are going to have fun," she orders. She gives my arms a tight squeeze and then smiles. "You can do this, Tris." I nod, but I don't think my stomach gets the message.

"If I tell you the story of what happened when I met Will, do you think you'll calm down a little?" She asks, staring me in the eyes.

"You can try it," I answer weakly.

"Okay. Flashback to freshman year: he and I constantly bickered, and then one day, in our sophomore year, our class had a field trip; we had to wait at the train station. Will, being the smarty pants he tends to be, was leaning quite closely towards the tracks to see something because he wanted to know what it was. I didn't know he had feelings for me; I never really thought I had any for him other than, supposed, mutual dislike." She shrugs, and I feel myself starting to lose the tension as I try to imagine fifteen-year-old Will and Christina, "well, he almost fell down onto the tracks. I happened to be standing relatively close by and I reached out to grab him, out of instinct and it turned out he was only faking it. He pulled me against him and kissed me, and he didn't even taunt me for my concerned reaction. But he did laugh—asshole." She grins.

I smile, picturing in my mind what that moment must have been like. To see someone as your total opposite, and then suddenly your equal. Will deserves a round of applause.

"Better?"

 _I think so_. I nod, shaking my hands out one last time, and smile wider, "much."

 **xxxxx**

We get inside, Christina and I, and we spot Zeke, Uriah, and Tobias by the control room door; Tobias's eyes flicker to mine and he smiles at me. My face heats up when I notice that the others are watching us—still, Tobias holds his hand out for me, and I slip my fingers between his.

His hands are not particularly soft, or too rough. His fingers are long and narrow, but they give mine just the right amount of pressure. Mine feel too warm, but he doesn't seem bothered by it.

"Believe me now?" Tobias smirks. Uriah points to Zeke.

"He didn't believe you," Uriah says, "I did."

"It's not that I _didn't_ ," Zeke retorts, rolling his eyes, "I'm just saying, you're not exactly nice and she might be a other-worldly for having the ability to put up with you."

I find it easier to joke, and say, "You're already talking about me?" Tobias grins, pulling me closer to him.

"Well, as much as I'd love to stay," Zeke starts, motioning between us, "I have to watch the cameras... otherwise, I have to face your wrath again."

"I didn't yell at you," Tobias sighs, "but the lost footage wasn't my fault."

"It wasn't mine either."

"Lost footage?" I ask.

Zeke shakes his head, "different story, for a different time." He turns to open the door, and starts up the stairs; Uriah waves goodbye and follows Christina down the hall toward the main area. Tobias's fingers squeeze mine again, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"You can go with them if you want," he says softly, "I'm not forcing you to stay here with me."

I give him a look, "don't do that." I scowl. I evaluate my wants and fears, before telling him, "I want to spend time with you." Tobias smiles, touching his palm to my face.

"I just don't want you to think you have to stay with me." I nod, because I understand him. I really do, but I don't want to be afraid of him. I want this to get easier, even if I'm the only one who needs the reassurance.

"I want to." I say, firmer.

"We can go to my apartment if you want peace and quiet," he offers. My stomach twists; he said so last night, that his intentions are pure. I trust him, "Or we can go out there."

"No," I say, "your apartment sounds fine."

" _Fine?_ " He asks. Tobias smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes like it usually does; he sighs, never looking away from my eyes, "you can talk to me about anything, you know. If going to my apartment bothers you—,"

"—just trust me," I say.

 **xxxxx**

"Do you want something to drink?" Tobias kicks his shoes off by the door. My throat _is_ dry; I nod.

"Water's fine, thank you," I reply. His apartment is still the same from the last time I was here. I notice, though, this time, all of the paint and graffiti on the wall opposite the kitchen. Some words I can make out, but others are lost under the layers of new colors. "did you do that?" I ask, pointing towards the wall.

Tobias looks up, and comes up beside me. He briefly glances at the wall, and hands me a cold water bottle; he shakes his head, smirking a little, "No. People before me did. I just don't feel the need to cover it up or go over it." It's a loud, but impressive, addition making it stand out from the other plain walls. I don't know how I missed it last time.

He touches my cheek again, running his thumb over my bottom lip that's wedged between my teeth, "are you okay?" Then he adds, "honestly." I sigh, and manage a nod.

"I am, really," I say, feeling a bit more confident. He looks somewhat convinced, but doesn't press me on it.

Tobias laces his fingers with mine then. He kisses my forehead, lingering there for a moment, before he kisses the tip of my nose, and then my lips. I don't know how, but kissing him comes as a second nature like it's not still new to us. His lips fit perfectly against mine, and electricity surges through my body.

His hands move to my shoulders, almost hovering like he's unsure if he can touch me. He brushes his thumbs along my skin, soothingly. I sigh against his lips— _I think I could get used to this_.

When he pulls back, he looks down at the tattoo on my collarbone; it's more prominent now because of the shirt I'm wearing—he can thank Christina for that much. He smiles, "I never did get to see it that well." A small laugh bursts from my chest, and I find the courage to slide a hand up his neck, into his hair. And just like that, his expression is serious, "I meant it before, you know... You can talk to me about anything."

"I know," I reply. "There is something..."

He doesn't sound irritated, or impatient; he sounds amused, "I figured as much." We're quiet; I count each rise and fall of his chest. But he presses his lips to my cheek, and says slowly, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," I say softly, "You've been so honest... I feel like I owe you the same. I'm not afraid of you, but I'm afraid of what I _want_." I see his breathing pick up before I hear it.

"What do you want?" He asks, his eyes meet mine, "me?" My throat tightens; I'm unable to speak so I just nod. I want to be truthful with him—if admitting to myself first, and then him, that he is what I want, would it get easier to do this?

His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me against him into a gentle hug. I can feel his heart beating against my cheek, and I smile a little. Just like he'd said—I make him nervous, too.

"Someday, if you still want me," Tobias says, kissing the top of my head, "we can." And it's all I need to hear from him right now. My arms wind around his neck and I pull myself up on my toes to kiss him. He hums against my lips, quietly, grasping my chin between his fingers.

 **xXxXx**

At some point, we made our way over to his bed, just lying there, talking and kissing. I will myself to believe that it will not go any further; and it doesn't, because Tobias doesn't attempt anything more than resting his hand on my waist, or kissing my jaw.

I steal glances at his watch; not because I want to leave, but because when we're quiet the ticking is all I can hear. It's just past midnight—I really should be getting back; Christina might worry, and I have more exams tomorrow.

Tobias's fingers draw oblong circles between my shoulder blades, his lips rest on the crown on my head, and my legs are tangled with his. We're a heap of limbs, but I've never been more comfortable.

My eyelids are heavy, my limbs are relaxed, and sleep is quickly ebbing away at my consciousness. Tobias lightly nudges my shoulder, provoking something between a moan and a sleepy hum from my throat, "Tris, you're falling asleep." He sounds amused.

"So?" I ask, tilting my chin up to readjust my head on his shoulder. Tobias chuckles, kissing my temple.

"I'm still here," he says, quietly, "I can take the floor." I weakly pull myself up into a sitting position and brush my hair out of my eyes. I'm really tired, but I don't think I can make it back to the dorm without falling asleep on the way there. I weigh my options; I could spend the night here with him, or play it safe and get back to my dorm.

"I can't kick you out of your own bed," I say, yawning.

"It's not kicking me out if I offered, Tris."

"Still..." I try to protest, but I don't come up with anything. He smirks, pecking my lips.

"How about I walk you back then?" I feel the corners of my lips tug up, and I nod. He stands up from the bed and holds his hand out for me, helping me to my feet. The whole way back, we walk hand in hand and we talk to keep me awake; he asks me more about my family, my exams, and me.

I think I can do this, me and him.

 **xXxXx**

I'm shaken awake by Christina the next morning.

Her eyes are bright, excited and her face is practically red from holding in whatever she wants to tell me. "What is it?" I ask, propping myself up. I'm still only half awake when she lets out a loud, ecstatic squeal.

Christina grabs my shoulders, watching me with a suddenly-stern expression, "promise you won't get all weird on me." I give her a hard look, and she smirks, shaking her head, "okay, whatever. Will and I finally did it. Last night."

I feel my jaw drop on its own accord, and Christina just laughs. "Oh my god," she just nods, practically bouncing. I feel like I should be looking at her differently, but I don't; she's still Christina, still my best friend. I feel a smile growing on my face, and we start laughing, "Oh my god, Chris!"

Christina smirks at me, "you are such a girl—I love it!" I ignore the comment, suddenly feeling my face grow warm. I don't know much about sex; I know the basics.

"Well..." I hesitate, "what was it like?" She heaves a large sigh, but the smile never leaves her face.

"I don't even know how to explain it, honestly," she answers, "it was... _amazing_. I feel like a new woman." She laughs at her own explanation, and I join her, shaking my head.

"Where did you guys go?"

"We came back here," Christina says, blushing, "I figured you'd be with Four for a while, and I was right."

"Was it... weird... at all?" I ask. She shrugs.

"I mean, a little," she says, "you know, before. But afterwards...it wasn't, not really." She grins again, covering her face with her hands, "it just felt right...the timing, _him_... _me_..."

Then she hugs me, shaking me violently again; I've never seen her this happy, but I'm glad that Will is the guy for her, "I'm happy for you guys," I say, wrapping my arms around her. Despite my lack of knowledge on the topic, she still tells me all of the details.

I may not look at her differently, but I'm sure if I see Will at breakfast I'm gonna have to make sure nothing is weird—Christina can be a little _too_ honest.

It's Wednesday morning, no full classes, but we exams at ten. We get up for breakfast. Christina launches herself off my bed, hurrying to get dressed; I know I will have to, so I throw the blanket off of my legs and stand up, grabbing clothes on my way to the showers.

 **xxxxx**

Will and Christina don't join us for breakfast—they sit by themselves, and I can't help but smile when I glance over at them. They make it look so at ease.

I think about Tobias. _If we were to ever get that far, would it be that easy?_ I guess I wouldn't know—I couldn't know... not yet, anyways.

For most of breakfast, I listen to Marlene and Lynn talking about people whose names I don't care to remember. Uriah sits beside me, scarfing down food like it's nothing. His eating habits are insane—I laugh.

"How do you eat like that?" I ask, staring at my tray of nearly untouched food.

"How do you...not eat like that?" Uriah retorts, grinning. I laugh, and scoop a spoonful of eggs into my mouth to humor him; he nudges my shoulder, as if to jokingly say 'good job'.

I bite my lip, and quietly ask, "have you seen To—Four today?" Uriah nods, taking his time to chew and then swallow his food before answering me.

"Yeah, he and Shauna went for a run this morning, and I think they're meeting Zeke in the training room later," he answers, glancing over at me, "I can bring you with me if you want. I'm heading there after the exam." I feel a blush creep into my skin; I want to see him. Uriah laughs, shaking his head at me, "I was gonna hold back my comments, but you make it too easy."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask, jabbing his ribs with my elbow. He just grins, rubbing what will be a bruise later.

"You asked me if I'd seen Four today," he answers, "and you're blushing, even though I didn't make a joke. That's what I mean." I just roll my eyes at him.

 **xxxxx**

Uriah and I head to the pit, taking the entrance to the tattoo parlor. Tori spots us, and briefly waves but returns to the new design she's sketching out. I keep thinking about getting a new one, but I don't know what it would be; Christina has my head filled with the idea.

We sneak down the corridor; I hear Tobias's laugh, loud and genuine and I smile, instantly. Uriah throws the door open, most likely in hopes of scaring them, but scowls when they just turn to look at us, shaking their heads, "damn, that was a bust," he sulks, kicking at the concrete like a disappointed child. I lightly touch his arm, as if it'll console him and then turn to the others.

"What are you guys doing here?" Shauna asks. I see Uriah grin then, mischievously, and he peers over at me for a moment—this won't be subtle. I brace myself.

"She wanted to see Four," _I was right_. I punch him in the arm, ignoring the pain in my knuckles at the contact—my face heats up, and I drop my eyes to the ground as I hear the others snickering, quietly.

An arm snakes around my waist then, and Tobias pulls me into his side. I lean against him—he is strong and warm. He touches his lips to the top of my head, just standing there with me. "Funny, I was thinking the same thing," he says, loud enough for them to hear. I look up at him, meeting his eyes and nod. Tobias smirks, "so you really wanted to see me?"

"I came to punch some bags," I joke; he feigns a hurt expression, and I laugh, pushing him lightly. His other arm wraps around me then—I can feel the others staring at us, and I rest my hands against my face, cooling my skin down.

Yet I don't feel smothered, like I expected to.

Zeke and Uriah head over to the mats, about to start a match while Shauna watches, counting down until she says 'go!' Tobias watches them, and I turn to him; he looks at me.

I feel a little awkward asking, but he's told me I can tell him anything; that I shouldn't be embarrassed. And I know I shouldn't be, but my teeth dig into my lip anyway as I say, "can we go somewhere?" I don't mind being here, but I want to be alone with him for a while.

Tobias nods, and we begin to head for the door; the others are too preoccupied with the fight to really notice, but Shauna waves at us before we leave.

"I really did come to see you," I say, watching him. The corner of his mouth twitches into a smile, and he glances down at me.

"I'm glad you did," he replies, fitting his hand against the small of my back. I focus on the feel of his hand resting so casually on me; even through the fabric, it feels like his skin could burn me. I think, someday, I will welcome the burn.

We walk down a deserted corridor—I glance around, looking down different hallways as we pass them. "Where are we going?" I ask; this is a different way from any of the ones I remember.

"It's a place I like to go sometimes; Zeke found it."

I grin, "just how many hiding places do you have?" Tobias smirks, shrugging.

"Tons," he answers after a moment, "you may never get to see them all."

"What if you're ever missing?" I don't like the idea, but I joke anyway, "wouldn't you want someone to know these places? Maybe find you?"

"But see that's the beauty about good hiding places," Tobias says, "nobody else ever finds them." I get a sense there's a double meaning to his answer—he sounds almost longing. I don't ask him about it, though I want to know. "But that's why I'm showing you."

The hallway is darker now, Tobias's grip is just a little stronger like I might disappear in the shadows if he lets go. I hear the sounds of water again, and I recognize that we are somewhere close to the chasm.

He presses a hand to the wall, like he is feeling for something. A minute or so later, he finds what he is looking for; there is an opening big enough for a person and no more. It opens up above the chasm, and I realize that we are on the other side of it now—I can just see the rock we sat on the other night, but only a piece of it, and I realize no matter where we are in here, we are hidden.

Tobias finds a place to sit, his feet hanging over the edge; his sneakers are soaked in seconds, but he doesn't seem bothered by it. I ask, "Does the height not bother you here?"

He shrugs, "Not really. It's dark enough to almost completely ignore it." Tobias pulls something out of his pocket, a flash of light reflects off of it and as he unscrews the cap I smell the unmistakable scent of alcohol. "It's only beer," he says, carefully.

"I've never had it," I say.

"You can try it if you want," Tobias grins, shaking his head, "but I will say the taste isn't the best there is."

"Maybe later," I laugh, a little out of nerves. I see the white of his teeth as he smiles, then he takes a sip. Does he always drink this close to the chasm? I bite my lip, and ask, "Do you do that often?"

"What?" He asks. I wave my hand toward the flask.

"Drink," I say, "this close to the water?"

"Not usually, no," he says, shyly, "sometimes with Zeke and Shauna, but not on a regular basis." I suddenly wonder what his motivation is, what is making him do this. He can't still be that nervous around me—I want to ask him, but I am afraid it will be a question he can't, or won't, answer just yet. He seems evasive to the more personal questions, maybe with good intentions for now.

But I don't forget he's nineteen; perhaps it is just something to do, a small rebellion of the rules. I can't forget that he is still so young... nineteen; two years older than me. I scowl slightly.

"What's wrong?" He asks. I shake my head with a sigh.

"I overthink things, sometimes," I say lightly.

He doesn't look surprised; he straightens his back and asks, "What are you overthinking?"

"I'm younger than you..." I reply. I watch him frown at me, and I shake my head again, "I don't still think... _that_." I say quickly, "...I guess I just don't understand what makes me different."

"Is it really that hard to believe somebody likes you?" He asks, carefully.

"You'd be the first," I answer.

"That's not exactly true." I raise my eyebrows at him, confused. He gives me a look like it should be obvious, "your guy _friend_?" I had almost forgotten about Al. I feel the tension ease out of me enough to laugh a little.

"Okay, fine. You'd be the second person to in that case," I say, disconsolately. Tobias moves closer to me, so that his leg touches mine, and he presses his lips to my temple, breathing in.

 **xxxxx**

That night, Tobias and I go to the pit with the others.

He keeps his arm around me, and for once I don't feel so alone around Will and Christina. Though I never truly was.

I'm not used to Tobias being with us like this, but I like it. I like that he holds me against him, like he's done it a million times before. I like how easy this feels. And I'm not sure if it's the alcohol in my system that makes me feel lighter, or if I'm just tired of arguing with myself that I've finally given in.

Either way I lean into him more, welcoming the warmth from his body, happily.

I notice that he doesn't try to kiss me; it's actually a bit of a relief. Tobias keeps his affections to a minimum in front of the others. We both appreciate leaving those moments for when we're alone. Though he kisses the top of my head occasionally.

I notice Al, glancing over at us every time he thinks I'm not looking; he's sulking. I feel bad, but I can't— _I won't_ —find it in me to tell Tobias to keep his distance whenever Al is around. I try not to look over at him anymore tonight.

 **xXxXx**

After my exam, I find Caleb at the cafeteria and join him for lunch. He's having an in-depth conversation with himself, since I don't really have an interest in water filtration and how it works. But for him, I try to make it look like I know what he's talking about, at least a little bit.

He eyes my tattoo then; I had forgotten that I'd even gotten it. It's fully healed. Caleb frowns, slightly, "You're not worried about what mom and dad will have to say?"

"Not really," I say, shaking my head. I absentmindedly skim my fingers over it. "They wouldn't have to know just yet..." my voice grows quiet with each word. I know Caleb hates lying.

"Beatrice—,"

"—I know. I know, Caleb. I'll deal with their disapproval when I get it from them. Can't you just pretend you didn't see it?" I plead; he looks indecisive and I pout slightly, "Please? Just act like you never knew about it." He sighs; I know how much he hates keeping secrets from our parents. But he's my brother, and he's lied for me before. As I have for him. He'll do this for me.

"Fine," he sighs. "I was beginning to wonder if I would ever see you again."

"Well, we have different friends," I say simply, "you're always with them, I'm always with mine." Caleb nods. _And I have a boyfriend now_... except I think I'll bite my tongue on that discussion a little longer. I'm not sure how much new information he can take from me today.

I didn't realize just how much I actually missed my brother until now; he listens to my stories, about most of my nights at the pit—he's weary of the idea of me going to such a place, but he holds back most of his opinions. His exciting nights are trying not to get caught staying in the labs after curfew.

I tell him about Four; leaving out that he's my boyfriend. I almost tell him; it is too easy to get lost in honesty, I realize. But I don't need Caleb going all big-brother on me, right now. So far, Caleb hasn't said anything against him; I think he actually approves of the Four I've described. He just doesn't know the part about us.

But when he brings up the girl, Susan, that he's so very fond of, I just want to tell him about Tobias and me. I just can't bring myself to say it—not because I'm embarrassed, or trying to keep it a secret forever. Not really. I just know how Caleb is; he'll ask a lot of questions.

"Have you spoken to mom or dad recently?" I ask. Caleb nods.

"A few days ago," he answers, "they want to talk to you sometime. They were mostly checking in on us again, wondering how things are." I nod once; I miss them, a lot. But I like it here. "They want to come up for a visit."

"Did you tell them yes?"

"I did," he answers, "should I not have?"

"No," I say almost too quickly, "you should have, I mean. Of course I want to see them." Caleb smiles then, and nods. He still looks boyish to me, but he looks older—like I haven't seen him years rather than weeks. As we sit, talking, I realize we truly are growing apart—we are finding ourselves here.

I could never forget my brother's face, but I almost don't recognize him right in front of me.

 **xXxXx**

I decide to meet Tobias at his apartment after lunch. When I get inside, it's warm; like the first time he brought me here. He heads toward the kitchen, grabbing a glass. I hear the faucet, and watch as he fills the cup with water.

He notices my staring and gives me a curious look, smirking slightly. Setting the glass down behind him, he turns to watch me for a moment, "what?" I can't help but smile, shaking my head at how absurd I'm being. Only he could make something so simple look so interesting.

"Nothing," I answer, "I just got distracted." The moment I say it, my skin warms.

"By me drinking water?"

I decide to play along and shrug, "you're quite talented." Tobias laughs. Stepping closer, until there is only about a foot between us.

He lifts my chin up with his fingers, pressing kisses to my jaw, and my cheek, and then my lips. It is a sweet kiss, nothing desperate like our first; though I can still tell he's waited all day to do this. Bumps rise along my skin as his hands trail down my arms, and Tobias pulls back to ask, "are you cold?" I shake my head. _How do I tell him it's just a reaction to him?_

He asks me about my day; I skip telling him about my exams and I tell him about my lunch with Caleb—he looks almost in awe as I talk about how different our lives have become. I tell him my parents are planning to visit, and as I say this, Tobias's fingers pull at the neck of my shirt, revealing my tattoo.

"Aren't you worried they'll see this?" He asks. His fingers accidentally graze the skin beneath my collarbone, almost making me forget the question.

"A little," I finally say, "but my mother has one."

"Does she?"

I nod, "I saw it once, it's on the back of her shoulder..."

A little while later, Tobias tells me stories of past dates Zeke used to set him up on, "Do you remember the stories I told you, where Zeke always dragged me on double dates, and every time it always ended with them making out and me somehow offending the girl I was with." I laugh, nodding.

"Well you aren't exactly the nicest," I say.

"Somehow you're still here," he grins, leaning forward to peck my lips. I smile, meeting his eyes.

"How early on did you offend those girls, Tobias?" I tease. The carnal side of me is glad none of them worked out; every first of his, is a first of mine too. He laughs, shaking his head.

" _Too_ early on." It doesn't seem like he's bothered by that confession, though. We talk more, about his day this time. I don't realize how late it is until I can no longer contain my yawns. Tobias chuckles, giving me a look through hooded eyelids. He is getting tired too.

"You can stay here tonight, Tris. If you're tired. I swear, I don't mind." I nod, so he knows I heard him but I don't answer right away. I have no classes tomorrow, but I have one exam left. He swears he will be up early enough to wake me, so I finally give in to his pleas. I laugh, because I don't see him as the type to beg, and this time, I kiss him without fear—without fear that he'll hurt me, or take advantage of me. And he kisses me right back, for as long as he can before we have to break away for air.

I am already dozing to sleep on the bed while he gathers some blankets, letting them drop to the floor. He steals a pillow off the other side of the bed, careful not to move me around too much, and lets that drop too. Before he gets comfortable on the ground, Tobias presses his forehead to mine softly, his breaths fan over my face as he whispers, "you might think I'm saying this too early, but I have to tell you that I am absolutely crazy about you."

I'm not sure if he thinks I am asleep, but I heard every word. And just like that he has just confessed himself. Tobias gives me one last kiss on the forehead, and takes the spot on the floor.

 **xXxXx**

' _You might think I'm saying this too early, but I have to tell you that I am absolutely crazy about you...'_ I hear those words in my head, replaying over and over from last night. His confession made everything more clear—just how important I am to him already; and I find it easier to trust him, and his actions.

I am awake, but I don't open my eyes just yet. There's a blanket that's twisted and tangled around my legs, and the bed dips down with my weight. It's soft—and nothing like my mattress. The sweet, yet heavy and musky scent fills my nose then and my eyes peek open, blinded by the sunlight streaming in through the window.

That's not my window either. I lift my head up off the pillow, glancing around; I'm in Tobias's apartment still. Though I don't see him anywhere at the moment. The clock in the kitchen reads just before eight. _I wonder when he left_.

I sigh, sitting up; my body aches and pops from sleep, and the blanket falls to my lap with a quiet rustle. My shoes, kicked off carelessly, now sit upright by the end of the bed. He must have moved them. _I wonder where he went_.

I look down and see the make-shift bed he made last night is all picked up; the blankets sit on a chair, and the pillow is on the end of the bed by my feet. I stand up and head to the bathroom; I notice my reflection—the sleep lines beneath my eyes, and the marks from my sleeves. I didn't wash the make-up off my face, either; the once even, neat black lines are now smudged under my eyes and in my eyelashes. I sigh, casting my eyes over my hair. It's not too bad, but it sticks out and tangles in some spots.

I hear the sound of the front door opening, and I step out of the bathroom. Tobias walks into the room. His eyes meet mine and he smiles, "you're awake. How did you sleep?" He asks, kicking his sneakers off by the door. _He went for a run_.

"Well." I answer, stretching my muscles out. My body still feels heavy with sleep, but I have to move around. "How did you sleep?" I ask as he wraps me in a tepid hug. He's sweaty from his run, but at the moment I don't care.

"You know, the floor is not as uncomfortable as you may think," Tobias says, smirking, "I slept fine."

"How long did I sleep?"

He shrugs, "almost eight hours. I wasn't gonna wake you earlier; you looked too comfortable." He says, kissing my forehead. I shake my head against his chest.

"Did you watch me?" I ask.

"You know, you're quite a heavy sleeper," Tobias teases; I give him a look and he laughs, "I'm joking, Tris."

"I know," I say, trying to fight the smile. He squeezes me just a little bit tighter, and I embrace him. He pulls back to look at me, smoothing my hair down. "It's a lost cause," I tell him, defeated. My hair needs a brush. He smirks.

"It looks fine," he says, tucking most of it behind my ear. I want to tell him about last night, what he said to me when he thought I was sleeping, but I decide against it. For now, I'll keep it as my little secret—I want to hold onto it for just a little bit longer.

 **xXxXx**

"Free of exams," Uriah claps his hands together, a triumphant grin on his face as we walk to the cafeteria. We meet the others for dinner, Lynn and Will are the first ones at the table. Lynn seems to be determined to win whatever it is they're arguing about, but when I sit down she just turns away from him. Will shakes his head.

"Did I interrupt something?" I ask, pushing my tray forward. Lynn steals the lettuce on the side, and begins to rip it into smaller shreds. I don't comment, but I watch as she lefts the pieces fall onto the table to dry up. I notice Uriah is no longer by my side.

"Not really," Lynn sighs, a deep scowl on her face, "we just have different opinions."

The filter between my brain and my mouth is lost as I say, "Don't your opinions differ with everyone's?" Part of me can't believe I have just said that to her. Lynn watches me, glaring slightly. I expect to get sucker punched, but she just sits back.

And then she laughs.

"I have to give credit where credit is due," she says, smirking, "fair point, Tris. I didn't think you had it in you, but maybe you could be a bitch." I release the breath I had been holding in, and let myself laugh with her for a moment.

"That was a mistake," I reply, shaking my head.

"A truthful one," Will speaks up. Lynn barely acknowledges him; I interrupted something, though I don't press on the matter anymore.

"Hey—where's Christina?" I glance around the cafeteria to see if she's in line, but I don't see her anywhere. "And Al?"

"Christina wasn't feeling well, so she went back to the dorm to rest for a while." Will answers, "But Al, I'm not sure. He was back at the dorm a little earlier, he might still be there." I nod.

We hear a cheerful, loud scream sound from the other end of the room then; the doors are thrust open from the courtyard and Uriah comes charging through the aisle with Marlene thrown over his shoulder. She waves at us as they run past. Her face is bright red.

Lynn leans across the table towards me, lowering her voice, "have you noticed how much time they've been spending together lately?" I shake my head—I haven't noticed. Usually, when I see Uriah it's just the two of us, or the group. "And Uriah has been like super flirty with her..."

She looks amused.

"Maybe he likes her," I shrug. Lynn rolls her eyes.

"Of course he likes her," she says, snapping her fingers at me, "wake up!" I give her a hard look; she shrugs me off. "Has your newfound relationship made you less observant than usual?" I want to be angry at her insult, but I know it's in her nature—she's a hard person to like, but when you do you try to overlook her abrasiveness.

"Not less," I finally say, indignant.

After a few minutes, Uriah and Marlene come back and they sit down beside us; with Marlene beside me, and Uriah across from us, next to Lynn. "What was that all about?" Lynn asks them. I'm about to eat, but the food is now cold; I push the tray away from me.

Uriah reaches for my hamburger.

He shrugs, swallowing his food before he answers, "I could carry you around if you're jealous." He's joking, but by how frantic he is to grab the table after Lynn punches him I take it she's not. But she smirks.

"I am not jealous," she promises, "and I wouldn't let you."

"Yeah, yeah," he says, waving her off. He glances at me, giving me an easy, toothy grin, and then says, "we're going to the pit tonight—all are welcome to join." Lynn rolls her eyes at him; I find it humorous how extravagant he makes the smallest things seem. "Eric has some fights going on later. I heard he managed to get Peter to fight."

"Are you serious?" Just as I ask this, Peter stops at a table a few rows down—he's grinning like he's excited. He almost looks normal, like I wouldn't recognize anything significant about him if he hadn't tried to shut my arm in door the first time I ever met him. He turns his head, and catches me staring. I mentally kick myself. _He's coming over_.

"Did you guys hear? I'm fighting tonight." He asks, but I know the question is directed at me, like I have an interest– _I'm only interested if he's losing_.

"Well, for our benefit I hope you lose," Lynn says, looking unamused. Peter's leans across the table, towards me; I try not to flinch.

"I wasn't talking to you," Peter hisses at her. He looks back to me, "Too bad you're not my opponent, stiff. You'd probably burst into tears after the first hit." My hands itch to smack him, or scratch him—anything to see the color of his blood, either spilling or rushing beneath the surface. But I don't. I keep my fingers firmly clasped around my knees and focus on the pressure as I clench and unclench my fists. "Too scared to talk now?" He taunts.

I turn to face him, glaring hard. I clear the hasty, angry retorts from my throat and say, "I'm not afraid of you. And I'm not afraid to take you on," I keep my voice even, firm, as I stare him down, "but I don't need to beat you to prove anything."

I am not afraid of him, not like I thought I was. This strength is driven by hate.

Peter glares at me, "we'll see about that." It's not the reaction he wants—not the one he expected. And when he stalks off, I smile a little. He can't get to me if I don't let him, and I won't. But I am worried at what he means by 'we'll see about that'.

I turn to Uriah, and say, "Okay. We're going to that fight. Do you know who he's up against?"

Uriah shrugs, "don't know yet. But this guy's Eric's secret weapon—according to what Zeke was told."

"Well, I'm all for seeing the bastard child get his ass kicked," Lynn says, rubbing her hands together; the excited glint in her eye tells me she's waited for this day. "What time's this fight?"

 **xXxXx**  
 _Tobias Eaton's POV_

Eric is in the control room the next morning when I arrive for my shift. He is at my monitor, a deep pucker between his brows. I ask, "What do you think you're doing?"

He looks up at me, frowning, "I should be asking you that question." _Uh oh, this can't be good_.

"What are you talking about?"

"One of the cameras was found busted last night, the camera in the hall to the apartments. And when I tried to pull up the footage before it got that way, I realized it's _missing_. Like someone erased it from the hard drive."

"And you think I had something to do with both events?" I ask, pinching the bridge of my nose, "If I wanted to lose my job—or even my residence here—do you really think I'd be that careless covering it up?" I shake my head, "You're smart, Eric... you should have known right off the bat it wasn't me."

"You have been preoccupied lately," he agrees, smug, "Not to mention sneaky..."

"You're ridiculous," I snap.

"No need to get defensive," Eric bites the piercing in his lip as he thinks, "If you didn't do anything." I breathe through my nose to keep calm.

"Does Max know about any of this yet?" I ask.

"Not yet," Eric stands up, "But no need to worry, I'll be in touch with him."

"What do you get from all of this?" I shake my head, "You're already leadership—what more do you want from him?"

"You better find that footage," he says, stalking past me to head out, "and soon." Zeke walks in then, his gaze following Eric as he leaves down the hall. He gives me a questioning look.

"What did he want?"

"Some footage has gone missing..." I say, "apparently from the hard drive completely. Eric was checking for traces of it through my computer."

"He thinks you would do that?" Zeke asks, incredulous. I shrug.

"So it would seem."

"That's fucked..." he sits down beside me, looking through the files Eric left on my monitor, "So is someone framing you? From the looks of these codes... whoever did this knew what they were doing..."

"They would have had to get past my login," I tell him with a scowl.

"Are we sure Eric didn't do this himself?" Zeke sighs, "he is the only other person, besides Tori, that knows the information. And you already know Tori is too loyal to Max to ever do anything close to this."

"Eric wouldn't have left any traces behind," I say.

"Unless he did it intentionally," Zeke argues. As much as I'd like to believe Eric could have done this, I know for a fact he didn't. This work is too careless, as he'd said. And I have no desire my sabotage my employment with Max. I'm not sure whoever did this even works for him.

"It wasn't Eric. It wasn't Tori. I will say it a thousand times, it wasn't me—,"

"—Or me," Zeke cuts in.

"Right." I nod once, "how are we supposed to get this footage back before Eric goes and tells Max, and he decides to suspect both of us?"

"He can suspect me all he wants," Zeke says, a smirk on his face, "I may have a job here, but I'm not _that_ smart for erasing footage into oblivion."

"You don't want Max suspecting you anyways," I snap, "This person smashed one of the cameras, and then broke in here and erased the evidence. We're up against someone that knows more about this place than we thought."

Zeke tells me to calm down, "What if it's another employee, or someone that used to work here and has a grudge. Max can take care of that, don't worry about what Eric says... if you want, I'll stay here tonight so that nothing like this happens again. And we'll take turns, you stay here in the day and I'll cover the nights."

"I don't think we have another choice," I sigh, "we aren't getting that footage back..."

"We'll take care of it," Zeke promises, "nobody's losing their job for no reason, Max isn't like that." I know Zeke is right, but part of me can't help feeling uneasy—the other half of me wants to think it's Eric, just trying to scare us. But this is serious—this is what Max expects us to prevent, and Eric would not put himself in the position to lose his power.

 **xxxxx**

I am on my way out of the control room, followed by both Zeke and Uriah. Since mentioning this morning that Tris and I are together, Zeke says, "I need to see this for myself."

"What is so hard to believe?" I ask, "you wanted me to throw myself at her—,"

"—which you blatantly disregarded," he adds.

"I didn't disregard it. But I wasn't about to be obnoxious to get her attention," I retort, rolling my eyes, then add, "Unlike _some_ people—"

The door at the end of the hall opens—as if on cue—and in walks Christina, followed by Tris. She looks calm, but a blush creeps across her skin and I smile at her. She smiles in return.

When they're close enough, I reach out for her hand; her fingers are quite long for a girl's, and thin. Her hands are soft, nothing compared to my rough, and calloused palms. I give her hand a light squeeze, and grin at Zeke, "believe me now?"

He scowls at me, but looks over at Tris for a moment. Uriah says, " _He_ didn't believe you, _I_ did."

"It's not that I _didn't_ ," Zeke replies, rolling his eyes at me, "I'm just saying, you're not exactly nice and she might be a other-wordly for having the ability to put up with you." I almost repeat what he'd said to me the other day, but Tris speaks up before I can.

"You're already talking about me?" I realize she's joking, sounding so at ease. I admire that about her, that she realizes this doesn't change how they see her. I grin, pulling her closer into my side. Her small frame fits perfectly.

"Well, as much as I'd love to stay," Zeke says, looking between the both of us, "I have to watch the cameras... otherwise, I have to face your wrath again." I sigh, shaking my head at him. He says it like I stormed the compound and threatened to throw him over the chasm.

"I didn't yell at you," I say, irritably, "but the lost footage wasn't my fault."

Zeke holds his hands up in front of him and says, "It wasn't mine either."

"Lost footage?" Tris asks.

Zeke shakes his head, "different story, for a different time." He turns to leave, and starts back up the stairs to the control room, while Uriah and Christina head for the pit, waving a goodbye to us. Tris's eyes linger after them for a moment—I have to remember not to be selfish, that it won't always be me she chooses to spend time with.

"You can go with them if you want," I say, keeping my voice soft, "I'm not forcing you to stay here with me."

She gives me a look between a sad frown and glare, "don't do that. I want to spend time with you." She says it confidently and I smile, cradling her face in my hand. This time, I allow the selfish part of me to rejoice.

"I just don't want you to think you have to stay with me." I say after a moment. Tris nods.

"I want to." She answers.

"We can go to my apartment if you want peace and quiet," I don't know how strongly she feels about that option, but I put it out there incase she's bored with the pit. A part of me feels now isn't the right time to suggest it, but the other part says she's strong enough to hear it and decide for herself, "Or we can go out there."

"No," She shakes her head, "your apartment sounds fine."

" _Fine?_ " I ask, teasing her some. _I don't want it to be just fine_. I want to know what she's really thinking. I need to know she's not just agreeing with me to spare my feelings or anything. I know it would be easier on her, if nothing were sugarcoated between us. I try to smile, but instead I sigh, keeping my eyes firmly locked on hers, "you can talk to me about anything, you know. If going to my apartment bothers you—,"

"—just trust me," Tris says, her grey eyes look almost blue today, with a different fierceness I haven't seen until now. I don't want her to close up around me; that'll only makes things harder for the both of us. But I do trust her, and I realize that this is her decision to make herself more comfortable around me.

I unlock my door, and let her in first. This is not the first time she's been here, so this isn't really anything new for her. Everything about us, this, together, is.

"Do you want something to drink?" I offer. She nods after a moment.

"Water's fine, thank you," she replies, sounding strained. I go into my barely utilized kitchen, and grab a bottled water from the fridge. My water is clean enough to shower in, but I don't want to give her warm, tap water. "Did you do that?" Tris asks, pointing towards the wall. I glance over at the graffiti, despite knowing what that wall looks like by heart. I shake my head, and walk up beside her, holding the water out.

"No. People before me did. I just don't cover it up or go over it." Her fingers skim mine when she reaches for the bottle. She stares at the mural a little longer, as if avoiding my gaze. I want her to look at me again, so I can almost read her thoughts. I touch her cheek, my thumb frees her bottom lip, wedged between her teeth, "are you okay? Honestly." _Please_. Tris sighs, nodding. It doesn't sound like a defeated sigh, however—it almost sounds tired. But tired of what?

"I am, really," Tris says, her voice is strong, clear. My fingers find hers, and I kiss her forehead, breathing her in for a moment. She smells like soap, and something sweet. I kiss the tip of her nose next, and then her lips. I find it easy to enjoy this company—to be this close with somebody, and to want to share moments with them. I am glad it is her. That she is mine; it sounds possessive that way, but I wouldn't be opposed to her claiming me as such.

Intimacy, as innocent as this, with her, is more than enough. The thought never once appealed to me before her; I had heard people talk about it, but now I think they underestimate these small moments. To say anything more serious with her hasn't occurred to me would be a lie, but for now I know I can wait for that. Kissing her feels good, almost natural now.

Every little touch between us is like a current of electricity between wires, it never stops; it gets stronger. I almost forget that we are both new to this—my hands still just above her shoulders, unsure if I am touching her so carelessly. But as my fingers leave trails down her arms, she sighs against my lips and I pull her closer to me.

I wish air was not an obstacle.

I pull back to look at her, my eyes find the tattoo on her collarbone. It looks healed, the skin around it is no longer red, and it shows just above the neckline of her shirt. It is just low cut enough to reveal something, but not everything. Just looking at her now makes my throat dry.

"I never did get to see it that well," I say, my excuse to look at her just a little bit longer. She laughs, a soft expression on her face; peaceful, and comfortable. It tells me that she is not hiding her thoughts from me. I clear my throat, and say, "I meant it before, you know... You can talk to me about anything."

"I know," Tris replies with a small shrug of her shoulders, "There is something..."

I almost laugh with relief, but I just say, "I figured as much." We are quiet for a moment; I suddenly wonder if she has decided to keep it to herself. I press my lips to her cheek, finding the spot just before her ear, and I whisper, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," She says softly, "You've been so honest... I feel like I owe you the same," I want to tell her she doesn't owe me anything—I want her to get rid of that thought now, because I have no expectations. But she peers up at me through her eyelashes, and says, "I'm not afraid of you, but I'm afraid of what I _want_." Her words still within me, sending a shiver to my core. _Has she just admitted she wants me?_ Not just a materialistic want, but a physical want—something more close to skin.

It stirs a feeling in me I have not felt before. A slight mishandle on my self-control...

"What do you want?" I ask, my throat feeling dry, "me?" Tris nods, slow but sure. _I want you too_ , I want to tell her, _a lot_. But I don't. Instead I pull her back into my chest, in a gentle, but selfish, possessive hug. My fingers, tangled in her hair, keep her still against me, enjoying the feel of her heart beating in time with mine.

"Someday, if you still want me," I say into her hair, "we can." Tris pries herself from my hold, stepping up on her toes to kiss me, unyielding. She has done more than just wake me up; I feel like for a while I walked around almost dead, like my life had been missing one certain thing. But she has already given me so many things, she has not filled up just one empty space inside of me—she has taken up everything, even the bad things, and she has made them good again.

Almost like reincarnation; like the phoenix from the ashes, she has given me something to keep rising for.

 **xXxXx**

It is late when I realize Tris is still in my arms; she is asleep, or almost asleep, in my arms. I shake her lightly, eliciting a hum from her throat. I say, "Tris, you're falling asleep." Not that I mind this peace one bit—I don't want her to leave yet.

"So?" She asks. I take it she doesn't want that either, and I laugh.

"I'm still here," I tell her, almost whispering, "I can take the floor." She pulls herself up, half awake. Her eyes are heavy, she can barely keep them open. Even in sleep, and the wrinkles from my shirt that have left an imprint on her cheek, she looks endearing.

"I can't kick you out of your own bed," she yawns.

"It's not kicking me out if I offered, Tris." My space can be hers, if that's what she wants.

"Still..." her protest falls short. I smirk, triumphantly and for a moment I think I've won, so I kiss her lightly. But then she edges towards the end of the bed again, and I know she will not stay here tonight.

"How about I walk you back then?" I earn her smile, and she nods in response. The walk is long, she doesn't move very fast but I don't mind. I talk to her, to keep her awake; I shake our hands so she focuses on that more than my voice, because I realize it is easy to talk to her in a soothing voice when she is like this.

For a moment, after she leaves me outside the school, I imagine what it would be like if we had been in school together. It is almost hard for me to think about it, because I was so different at seventeen.

When I get back to my apartment, I cover myself beneath the blankets again and miss the warmth her body offered, and I let the scent of her run through my memory as I drift back to sleep.

 **xxxxx**

The clock reads just after four. I roll on my side, away from the clock and look out at the darkened city. I want to go for a run, to make myself tired—but my legs themselves are too tired to stand up.

So I stare up at the ceiling, lying on my back. It is not as comfortable; from learning to fall sleep on my stomach almost every night, it became my only way to sleep. My thoughts are just too loud, too active for sleep at the moment.

I think about Tris. I think about the missing footage. I think about too much, and nothing in particular all at once.

My eyes adjust to the darkness eventually, and I can see all of the marks and scratches indented in the cemented walls, and the countless graffiti stand out in a greyscale of various shades. None of which can distract me much. My eyelids feel heavy, but I'm wide awake.

Undoubtedly, one of my worst nights of sleep yet; not counting all of the times I stayed awake in blistering pain. Those were times when cold showers became my savior, numbing my back and making me forget what pain was. This is why staying awake frightens me, because I relive the turmoil of my childhood; I let it play over and over in my mind, and I'm powerless to stop it because I remember it all, much too well. Every crippling belt snap, every screamed held back by clenched teeth or a fist.

My body breaks out into a sweat, and I'm uncomfortable. My hands tremble and I clench my fists around the pillow, willing the thoughts to go away. I can't live with these memories forever. I won't live, looking back on these moments of weakness that left me helpless and hopeless. It's just too much to carry on with.

It's just harder letting go, I feel like I will lose a piece of my strength with it. I realize now there was strength in keeping quiet—there was greater strength it getting out, and not letting it consume me.

I try to focus on her face, and breathing through my mouth. Both tend to help when trying to forget doesn't.

I awake a few hours later, the clock now reads nine-thirty. I was supposed to take Zeke's place an hour and a half ago. I don't drag my feet getting ready, and I am out the door.

When I arrive, Zeke notices the dark circles under my eyes, but he doesn't comment on them. He is one of the few people that knows about my father—he has seen me come in from too many sleepless nights, with dark circles like bruises.

I take my seat at the monitor, and he pats me on the shoulder once, then leaves. It's gonna be a long shift.

 **xXxXx**

Shauna and I head out for a run after my shift is over. We run down to the pier, stopping only to catch our breaths. My lungs burn, and my legs ache, but there is no better feeling. It's not like waking up, or stretching your muscles out—though both feel pretty good.

"Getting tired, yet?" Shauna asks, breathless. There are wisps of hair that frame her face and stick to the glistening skin of her forehead. She looks exhausted, but wide awake.

My shirt is drenched, so wiping the sweat off my face with it would do no good. I keep running, and shake my head at her, "No. I could go for another mile."

I don't believe I could, but it's nice to think I'm inexhaustible. That there are no limits to my physicality.

When we get back to the pit, my lungs are on fire, my ribs are sore, and the tension is tight in my abdomen.

In the main area, Eric is ordering his lackeys around. He spots me, and I know he has something to say to me; but I don't want to deal with him. "Anything on the footage, yet?"

"If I found anything new, don't you think I'd have reported it already?" I ask, irritably.

"Tick tock," he smirks, "Otherwise Max is gonna get a call... and I don't think you want that."

"Call him," I snap, "Call him now, Eric. Get it over with—that's what you want, right?"

"So tense," Eric snickers, shaking his head, "Even the stiff can't melt your cold heart, I see." I never want to hear him utter another word about Tris ever again, and I know I could make that happen. He wants to fight me so bad, I could give him a real fight—I could finally make things go the way I want them to. But that is a cowardly thing to think... it's intimidation through violence. Something my father would take advantage of.

But not me.

I shove past him, determined to get down to the training room to join Zeke and Shauna. Eric can call Max, for all I care. Max is too fond of me, he would make sure to see my point first.

 **xxxxx**

In the training room, Zeke tells us about one of the dates he went on last night; apparently, it ended in a disaster—to which, I laugh a little too hard at, since he's usually the one who gets what he wants out of the date.

The door at the other end of the room is thrown open, Shauna flinches but otherwise doesn't seem fazed by it. Zeke stops talking to see who it is.

I see Uriah first, then Tris. She looks at me.

Uriah scowls at us, "damn, that was a bust." He looks like a sulking child. Tris stands behind him, patting his arm.

"What are you guys doing here?" Shauna asks. Tris visibly tenses the second Uriah looks up, grinning. He looks too amused, like he has been waiting for this moment.

"She wanted to see Four," He smirks. I look over at Tris, who throws a rough punch at his arm; Uriah gives her a look and cowers away, clutching his shoulder. She is bright red, Shauna and Zeke laugh quietly, but I can only smile.

I cross the room and come up beside her, pulling her into my side. "Funny, I was thinking the same thing," I say, loud enough for them to hear. Her eyes meet mine, a mixture of silver and blue, like the ocean, "so you really wanted to see me?"

Tris smirks, and says, "I came to punch some bags." I fake a hurt look and she laughs, trying to shove me away from her. I just hold her closer, and grin when her face gets even brighter.

I look up to see Zeke and Uriah over by the mats, shoving each other on the way there; Shauna follows them, and counts down from three. Tris shifts in the corner of my eye, and I look down at her, meeting her eyes.

She bites her lip, "can we go somewhere?" She looks so innocent asking; I nod and wave to the others, though Shauna is the only one paying attention. I keep Tris close to me, she's warm.

"I really did come to see you," she says; I suppress my smirk, because I know she was kidding before.

"I'm glad you did," I reach behind her, fitting my hand against the space between her shoulder blades. Her shirt is thin, it allows me to feel the ridges along her spine and the warmth of her skin. She shivers underneath my touch.

I don't take her back to my apartment, or the main area; I know of a place. I lead her down a removed corridor—it's much colder down this way. I should have mentioned it before. We walk down another dimly-lit corridor. "Where are we going?" Tris asks.

"It's a place I like to go sometimes; Zeke found it."

I grin, "just how many hiding places do you have?" I shrug.

"Tons," I reply, then joke, "you may never get to see them all." That is not entirely true, however—I believe I would do anything to make sure I had her all to myself if any of my other hiding places were found.

"What if you're ever missing?" she asks, weary, "wouldn't you want someone to know these places? Maybe find you?"

"But see that's the beauty about good hiding places," I say, "nobody else ever finds them." I want to kick myself for still being so reserved around her; so vague. I have a problem with specificity, it's probably one of my greatest flaws, albeit worst habits. Everything I say to her may as well be negligible. I add, "But that's why I'm showing you."

I hear the water rushing through the chasm the closer we get. The hallway is more narrow down this part, all of the light is back at the other end, making it harder to see where to step. But I know this place like the back of my hand. A moment later, I find the way in; a hole that is big enough for someone my size and no more. Tris fits through it easily. We are above another part of the chasm, the rock we sat on the other night is hidden from view.

I sit by the edge, my feet dangle over the water and this time the water soaks the bottom of my jeans. Tris sits down beside me, and asks, "Does the height not bother you here?"

I never really thought about it—most times Zeke would bring alcohol down here and nothing else mattered. _And I'm not really thinking about the height right now..._ I shrug, "Not really. It's dark enough to almost completely ignore it." I guess this situation would make me Zeke—I pull a flask out of the pocket of my jacket and unscrew the cap, taking a sip. I notice Tris is eyeing it, "It's only beer."

"I've never had it," She says. This surprises me—of the few times I've seen her drink in the pit, I wonder what it was she had.

"You can try it if you want," I say with a grin. I feel like I am corrupting her, "but I will say the taste isn't the best there is."

"Maybe later," She laughs, her voice echoing off the wall behind us, and I smile at the sound. Then Tris asks, "Do you do that often?"

"What?"

"Drink," she says, "this close to the water?"

"Not usually, no," I say, carefully, "sometimes with Zeke and Shauna, but not on a regular basis." Tris is quiet beside me, her hands twisting in her lap again; a nervous habit. I can just make out her face in the dark; I can see the frown, bright as day.

"What's wrong?" I ask immediately. _Maybe the beer wasn't a good idea_.

"I overthink things, sometimes," She says. Relief. But I know it is not how I should be feeling.

I ask, "What are you overthinking?"

"I'm younger than you..." Tris starts. I can't help my frown—I'm curious now, as to why she seems to self-deprecating, "I don't still think... _that_. I guess I just don't understand what makes me different."

"Is it really that hard to believe somebody likes you?" I ask, turning my body to face her now. She sits up straighter.

"You'd be the first," she says, almost sad.

"That's not exactly true." I say, watching the confusion contort her face. How is it not obvious to her? She is incredible, yet she doesn't see it. How could I make her? I suddenly remember the reason we met—she was hiding from somebody, "your _guy_ friend?" At that, Tris laughs.

"Okay, fine. You'd be the second person to in that case," She agrees. I can feel the tension roll off of her like waves, until she falls silent beside me. We stay like this for a while, until she gets too cold and we decide to meet the others at the pit.

Most of the time, I avoid it because it's so busy. Despite how much I've grown to love this place—sometimes it's just too much. Tris stays tucked under my arm for most of the night; not once does she tense up being this tangled up with me.

I have never truly understood the appeal of public displays of affection; not as severely as Zeke asserts himself, at least. I have no problem holding Tris's hands, or kissing her forehead. Tentative, I will probably always be—so I don't expect her to be as openly affection either.

Zeke tries to offer me another drink, but I turn it down. I had finished off the beer from earlier, and had a few more when we got here; I don't want to be drunk right now, not with Tris here. I have found that to forget how awful things can be around me, I prefer her to alcohol.

 **xXxXx**

I join Zeke in the control room the next morning, monitoring screens for most of the day; still nothing new on the missing footage—though Eric has made it a point to annoy the hell out of me about it. I have decided to give up looking for it.

I know he has already called Max; Tori was throwing a fit this morning, yelling at Eric, telling him he shouldn't have bothered Max like that, and that we have everything under control. Of course, Eric didn't like that.

It is just past two when I tell Zeke I have somewhere to be; he makes a suggestive comment, but I don't hear the rest of it as the door shuts behind me.

I hear a knock on my door a little while later, and I know it is Tris. She had mentioned last night she wanted to come by after her exam. I offer to get her something to drink, but she insists she's fine so I grab myself some water.

I notice her watching me—her eyes have a way of letting me know, like I can feel her staring. But I don't mind it one bit. I set my glass down on the counter, and stare back. The counter stands between us, our only obstacle. I ask, smirking, "what?"

Tris laughs, and the more I hear it I believe it is the best sound I have ever heard.

"Nothing," she answers, blushing, "I just got distracted."

"By me drinking water?" I snort

She tries to shrug, like this is a casual conversation, but it doesn't work. I almost laugh, "you're quite talented." And at that, I do. I step around the counter, until the only space between us is a mere foot, at most. I lift her chin up, and kiss the skin below her jaw, up to her cheek, until I kiss her lips. My hands reach down to hold hers, and she shivers.

"Are you cold?" I ask. She shakes her head, then looks away when her skin breaks out into a blush. I want her to look at me again, so I lean down and keep my face close until she turns back to me and gives me a quick kiss. I smile, and ask, "how was your day?"

"Long," she sighs, "but good. I saw my brother today."

"Really? How was that?" I vaguely remember her telling me about him that first night in the chasm; she spoke so highly of him, and she still does.

"Good," she smiles, "He told me our parents want to visit soon... I miss them." Her eyes follow as my fingers tug at the neckline of her shirt, revealing her tattoo.

"Aren't you worried they'll see this?" I ask.

"A little," Tris admits, biting her lip, "but my mother has one."

"Does she?" Her face lights up as I ask this—she must have a good relationship with her; just like her brother, her she speaks highly of her mother as well. I want to feel jealous, that her relationship is so wholesome with her family, but I don't find it in me. Perhaps I didn't deserve a good relationship with mine—or at least my father—but she does; they sound like the perfect unit.

We talk for a little while, and then the conversation gets to me and my past relationships—if they can even be considered anything more than half-assed attempts, "Do you remember the stories I told you, where Zeke always dragged me on double dates, and every time it always ended with them making out and me somehow offending the girl I was with." Tris laughs.

"Well you aren't exactly the nicest," she says. I roll my eyes.

"Somehow you're still here," I say, pressing a kiss to her lips. Her smile illuminates her whole face, her eyes are almost completely blue. It is easy to get lost in everything about her, like a siren. How dangerous, and tempting.

"How early on did you offend those girls, Tobias?" Tris asks, teasing me. I can only laugh, because as shallow as it sounds, none of them matter to me.

" _Too_ early on." I say. She sits on the countertop, her arms propping her up at her sides. The way she holds herself, it makes her bones stick out beneath her neck; she looks so fragile. I stand in front of her, my hands resting atop the backs of hers. She asks me about my day this time. I don't care to get into too many details about Eric, or about what I've seen on the cameras. None of it is of much interest.

At some point, we make our way over to my bed. She curls herself up at my side, the blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon. She yawns. Her eyes have been closed for so long now, I would have thought she was talking to me in her sleep if she hadn't moved around a few times.

"You can stay here tonight, Tris. If you're tired. I swear, I don't mind." Tris nods, but doesn't say anything. I nuzzle my face against her neck, into her hair, and beg her to stay. She tells me she has another exam, and I promise her I will wake her up in time.

Me. Tobias Eaton doesn't beg, for _anything_. But for _her_... she'd have me on my knees.

And then she laughs, and she kisses me, long and slow. With a playful, resigned sigh, she agrees to stay.

She is already asleep as I gather blankets for a make-shift bed on the floor. I have to grab a pillow from the other side of the bed, but I am careful not to put my entire weight on the mattress so I don't wake her.

Her shoes have made their way under the bed; I set them upright at the end so she has no trouble finding them in the morning. For a few minutes, I watch her sleep; her features are so peaceful, they resemble a child's deep in a dream. I am hypnotized by the rise and fall of her chest, each breath is the same, slow and soft. It makes me match my breathing to hers, afraid that anything different could disturb her. She sleeps with her hands beneath her head, her blonde hair in layers of strands across the pillow.

She is just close enough for me to avoid leaning across the mattress. I make my touch as gentle as possible, letting my forehead rest against hers for a moment. I slow my breathing, and in this stolen moment, I find the courage to admit out loud, "...I am absolutely crazy about you."

I let my lips to linger on her forehead, listening to the sounds of her breathing to still the chaos in my mind so I can sleep tonight. I have just admitted my feelings to her, and I almost wish she was awake to hear it.

 **xXxXx**

The sun is not yet rising when I wake up. I feel groggy and still a bit tired, but the moment I hear Zeke banging on the door I'm up and running. I try not to throw it open, "Are you insane?" I whisper harshly. I step out into the hallway, glaring at him, "Why do you have to do that?"

"To wake you up," Zeke answers with a shrug, "you are definitely not a morning person."

"Tris is asleep," I say without thinking. Zeke's face lights up, and he starts laughing. I shoot him a look, and glance inside behind me to make sure she didn't wake up. I am relieved when I see she is still curled up in a ball. She looks too comfortable— _she's also in my bed_. Zeke peers around me, and smirks.

"Long night?"

"We didn't do anything," I groan, rolling my eyes, "she got too tired to walk back to the school."

"You two may as well wear purity rings," he mutters, shaking his head. I don't have an answer to that.

I only sigh, and ask, "Why are you here? What time is it?"

"It's just past five," Zeke answers, "and Shauna wants to go for a run. But she says she doesn't want to go alone. _No fun_ , or something like that..."

"You can't go with her?" I ask.

"I'm on camera duty," he frowns. I sigh.

"Tell her to give me five minutes," I leave him with that, and head back into the apartment. At some point during the night, Tris must have kicked around; the blanket is twisted and tangled around her legs, and her hair covers half of her face.

I get dressed quickly, and throw my sneakers on. It is too early to wake her now; her exam is much later in the morning, and I will be back way before them.

I look back at her one more time, to make sure I haven't woken her up and then head out to find Shauna.

 **xxxxx**

Our run ends just around seven-thirty. Shauna and I part ways in the hall, and I head up to my abandoned hallway.

When I get inside, I notice Tris is no longer in my bed. I hear no sounds of her in the apartment, until the bathroom door opens and she steps out into the room. I smile the moment her eyes touch mine, "you're awake. How did you sleep?" I leave my sneakers by the door, and walk towards her, eager to touch her.

"Well." She answers, stretching her arms. I notice a sliver of skin sticking out beneath her shirt, just above her hip. Then she asks, "How did you sleep?" I pull her into me, into a tight hug, but I forget that I am still covered in sweat from the run. She wraps her arms around me, and I realize she must not care that much.

"You know, the floor is not as uncomfortable as you may think," I say, smirking, "I slept fine." Anything to get her to spend the night again.

"How long did I sleep?"

I shrug, not really sure when we fell asleep, "almost eight hours? I wasn't gonna wake you earlier; you looked too comfortable." I kiss her forehead, and I feel her shaking her head against my chest.

"Did you watch me?" Tris asks.

"You know, you're quite a heavy sleeper," I tease; laughing at her expression, "I'm joking, Tris."

"I know," she tries to fight a smile, but it doesn't work. I try to smooth her hair down, so it looks less hectic, but Tris sighs and says, "It's a lost cause."

"It looks fine," I say, tucking a thick strand of it behind her ear. She looks like she wants to say something, but when she doesn't I decide not to press her on it.

She leaves shortly after, and I go for a shower, ready to face the rest of my day now that the best part is over.


	6. Whole

**A/N: I promise I did not abandon this story! Life has been crazy busy, and on top of that I have had the worst case of writer's block ever (which should be impossible, since I am refurbishing this story, but when I am changing the ideas I don't like it gets tough to write something new sometimes!) Alas, the next update is here, and hopefully the one after this will be up in a shorter amount of time!**

 **CHAPTER 6 – WHOLE  
** _Tris Prior's POV_

"It seems Eric's really amped up the anticipation for this fight," Marlene shouts over the noise; she yells into my ear, though I may have heard her just fine if she were a little farther from me. But my ears ring from all of the noises in general.

It's Friday night; exams are over, the pit is packed—I almost don't believe this is all because of a fight.

I glance around for Tobias, and I spot him on the mezzanine, talking with Zeke. He barely looks over the rowdy crowd taking up the main floor; when he laughs, I find myself smiling. Zeke points from up top, around our area and Tobias looks straight to me.

He waves; Zeke shakes his head, amused, and punches his arm. He says something to Tobias I can't hear from all the way down here, but as Tobias rolls his eyes I imagine it must be something ridiculous. I can't hear what Tobias says to him in return either, but Zeke bursts out laughing, and eventually they head down to where we are. Tobias pulls me into a hug, lifting me off the ground slightly. I wrap my arms around his neck, and hold myself up, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

I don't want to wait until we're alone to kiss him—and he doesn't seem to object.

Over his shoulder, I see Eric watching us; my face heats up slightly, and Tobias puts me down, but he doesn't let go of me. I don't look back at Eric. I couldn't read the expression on his face, it would only worry me more if I tried to. "Miss me?" Tobias asks.

I smile, nodding, "a little bit." _A lot, actually_ —I can't say it doesn't scare me, because it does, depending on him the way that I do. But I also know that I have never felt happier than when he's holding me. I swallow the fear as we wait for the fight to begin.

When Eric speaks, everyone quiets down. He glances over the crowd, the cunning glint in his eyes, "First fight of the night—Peter... and Edward." I look over at Uriah, wondering if he knows who Edward is but Uriah shrugs, shaking his head at me.

I notice his arm is slung around Marlene's shoulders, while she and Lynn strain to look over taller heads. As subtly as I can, I give Uriah a thumbs up and he grins, nodding.

"You know the rules," Eric says, backing out of the ring, "you fight until you no longer can, and nobody concedes. ... ... _Go_." Peter swings first, determined to get the first hit but Edward is faster, and by the looks of it stronger.

He uppercuts Peter, hitting him square in the jaw. Peter lets out a painful wail, clutching his face briefly. I shouldn't want to see pain inflicted on anybody, but I want to see Peter's pain over and over again. He goes for Edward again, this time he manages to get a punch into his stomach; but Peter has to shake his hand out, and Edward brings his knee up, almost knocking Peter to the ground with the force of it. The crowd is more boisterous than before, rooting for whoever seems to be winning at the moment. And so far, it's still Edward.

I turn to Tobias, who's watching me instead of the fight, "what?"

He leans closer to me, so I can hear him, and says, "I don't think I've ever seen you this engrossed in any of the fights," he answers, "you look almost lethal."

I smirk, "that's because Peter's losing." Tobias raises an eyebrow at me. He doesn't know about Peter, so I shake my head, "I'll explain it later," I promise. Tobias nods, a weary look on his face so I turn back to the fight for now. I see Edward's fist connect with Peter's face again, and then Peter's down. Blood drips from his nose, and the new, gash in his lip. Blood is a strange color, it's darker than you expect it to be, like a blackish, dirty red.

I barely see anything wrong with Edward, but Peter looks bad. Edward keeps kicking, until Peter is in a ball, unable to tell him to stop. That's when Tobias pushes through the people in front of us and he and Zeke pick Peter up from the ground; they carry him out of the room, but I don't know where they take him.

I feel happy, though I know I shouldn't. No matter how mean Peter can be, I shouldn't be happy at his pain—it's wrong. It's a disgusting trait to have.

Tobias returns after a few minutes, looking slightly amused but uncertain. His fingers grip my arm at the bend, and he pulls me away, until we're in a quieter area. The next fight begins but I can no longer see the ring, which may be his intention, "What was that all about?"

"Peter is..." I'm not sure how to describe him; _he's an asshole, for sure, but I feel like even that may be an understatement_ ; _I don't want Peter dead_ , I would never wish that, _but I don't exactly want to see him up on his high horse anymore either_. I sigh, "Peter is to me, what Eric is to you." It's the best I can do; Tobias nods, understanding.

"You haven't even been here half a year, and you already have an enemy," I frown; he says it like I tried to make one. "You wanted to see Peter hurt?" He asks. I don't want to nod, but I do, slowly.

"...Yes. The first time I met him he tried to shut my arm in a door." The muscle in his jaw jumps. I can't tell if he's angry, he keeps his face calm. Perhaps that is worse.

"Why did he do that?"

"Because I was new," I answer lamely, "and apparently nobody was talking about him and his achievements."

"I can't imagine he has many friends with that type of greeting," Tobias says; I shake my head, agreeing with him.

"He has followers." I sigh, a slight headache forming now that we are away from all of the noise, "but I don't want to talk about Peter anymore." Tobias smiles after a moment, and then he nods.

"Okay."

 **xXxXx**

Caleb knocks on our door the next morning; Christina shuffles to her feet to open it, shooting him a glare. It's eight-thirty, Caleb tells me our parents will be here around ten, and that I should get ready quickly.

I get dressed, wearing a long sleeve black shirt, and deep, dark blue jeans. I still wear my black and white sneakers. Caleb looks over me, making sure I don't look too different, and he says, "You should cover your tattoo."

I know he is right. It's not something I want my parents to see as soon as they look at me. Christina throws me a collared jacket, the top if it just touches below my chin, "Perfect," I say.

And then Caleb and I head down to the office, meeting with Ms. Matthews to wait for their arrival.

 **Xxxxx**

My mother hugs me tightly, like I haven't seen her in ages. My father pulls Caleb into his embrace first, and then me. Automatically, my arms return the gesture. Everything is familiar; my father still smells like silver birch, and mint; my mother, like vanilla and honeysuckle.

We are greeted by Ms. Matthews; she speaks to them for a moment, praising our—mostly Caleb's—grades and then we are shuffled into a large room with tables at the opposite end, and two couches facing each other. I would guess it to be the teacher's lounge, but it looks too modest—too plain, and boring.

I remember to pull the collar of the jacket back up every time they aren't looking, so that my tattoo is hidden. Caleb wouldn't let me leave the dorm building without it. I wasn't about to disagree with him anyway.

"We would ask how school is going," my father says, smiling at the both of us, "but Ms. Matthews's overview seems to tell all." Caleb and I exchange a brief look, like the ones all siblings seem to be wired with when they're hiding secrets.

This secret being that school has not been much of my priority, like it has been Caleb's. Also being my tattoo, and how—though Caleb won't say it outright—'corrupt' I have become. Wearing more form fitting, dark clothes and vanity. My parents have surely noticed, but they don't look at me any different; my father does, at least a little, but he doesn't give me a look of disapproval. I am still his little girl, but maybe I'm just a little more sure of myself.

"We've missed you," my mother smiles, reaching over to give my hand a squeeze. Her hands are soft, and warm, like they always have been. The tendons jump like piano strings beneath her skin, and I rub my thumb over them, as if to smoothen them out. "You look different, good different." She looks at Caleb first, and then me.

And I notice that it's not just me she's talking about; I didn't notice that Caleb has been smoothing his hair down, neat and flat. While I let my hair frame my face more, casting shadows along the edges of my face.

"How have you been?" She asks us, "Have you made friends?" The fluorescent bulb just above Caleb and me flickers, then stops, flickers, then stops. I nod, and Caleb sits up straighter.

"I've made a few," he answers, "Beatrice, too." I'm used to hearing my friends call me Tris now, that I almost forget what Beatrice sounds like—it sounds too formal now.

I clear my throat, "Yeah, just a few." I lie too easily now.

"Well, tell us," my father says, "what your classes are like." I let Caleb explain his first—he's more academically engrossed than I am. He tells my parents about the girl, Susan—the smile hasn't left my parents' faces since he mentioned her; how polite and wonderful and smart she is.

I want to tell them about Tobias; I still want to tell Caleb. But he's two years older, legally an adult—he lives on his own, and as for his job, I don't know how I could explain that one to my parents; I'm not sure how any of them would react. But I know him well, at least in the moments that we are alone. I know the real Tobias, I can live with keeping him a secret from them for just a little bit longer.

My father and Caleb decide to take a walk around the campus, suggested by our mother. When they're out of the room, my mother turns to me. "Your father was weary about you two being so far from home, but he knows this school is one of the best," she says, smiling slightly. I smile in return, that sounds like him. "Tell me, what are your friends like?"

I have always enjoyed these moments with my mother, when she acted like my best friend—when I knew I could tell her anything. I know that still applies now. I wipe my palms on my jeans, and sit up straighter. I let Caleb do all of the talking before, like I always have, but now this question is directed towards me and it's just me and my mother.

"Well my roommate, Christina, is great. She's the one that gave me this... _makeover_." I say, laughing a little. My mother joins in, shaking her head.

"I was going to ask when you started wearing make-up," she says, "it looks very nice." My face warms; I am not used to compliments, not really. My mother was always the epitome of beauty in my eyes, with her light brown hair and vibrant, blue eyes. I was always just ordinary.

"And then there's Uriah, Marlene, Lynn...Al and Will," I list off; I don't mention Peter, or Molly, or Eric because I don't need my mother worrying; and they are not who I would consider friends, ever. "And Four."

"Is that a nickname?" My mother asks. I nod, but don't elaborate. Tobias wears his pride in that alias—why he chooses to keep his real name a secret, I'm not sure. I assume he'll tell me when he wants to. "What are they like?"

I tell her about them; how Uriah's eating habits are insane, and how Marlene and Lynn act like sisters; I tell her about Christina and Will, and how they got together—my mother smiles, almost from ear to ear. I mention Al, and how kind he is. I tell her he has been a little too kind, but that I don't share the same interest in him.

"What's—Four, is it? What's he like?" I blush, willing myself to calm down before she notices, but she does and she smiles, "is he cute?"

"Mom—,"

"—you can tell me, Beatrice," my mother says, patting the back of my hands. I bite my lip; I am reluctant to tell her, but she's never teased me whenever I showed some form of affection. I don't believe this would be much different.

I nod, embarrassed, "...yeah, he is." She beams.

"Tell me about him."

I don't know how much I should tell her—I start with how he looks; tall, taut, and defined. A long, narrow face with a hooked nose, angled jaw, and hallows beneath his cheekbones. His deep set, dark blue eyes and short hair. How his lips are usually always in a pout.

My mother laughs, "you must really like him." She doesn't know how difficult it is for me to say it out loud—to actually allow myself the freedom to like somebody, maybe even love them unconditionally. I don't know if I love Tobias, it's way too soon for me to know. _Right?_

I don't tell her about the knife-throwing, or the night we scaled the Ferris Wheel. They were dangerous, daring moments; ones I prefer to keep between us.

I carefully mention his age, "he's nineteen..." Silence. But my mother's expression doesn't change.

"I trust you to make your own decisions," she says softly. "You will be eighteen soon; I know you'll be responsible." I'm gaping at her; it was not the reaction I expected—I expected the dreaded talk, amongst various lectures even.

"Really?" I ask. She nods.

"Of course," my mother's smile is warm, "I have never felt the need to worry about your judgment, Beatrice. You see the good in people, just like me... but you also know when something isn't right. I think Four sounds like a wonderful man, and if he makes you happy you're old enough to make those kinds of decisions." I hug my mother tightly, and just like that all of my fears and thoughts are put to rest—I never knew I needed to hear those words from my mother until she spoke them. When she pulls back, she tucks my hair behind my ears and smiles, "Come on, let's go find your father and your brother, and get some lunch."

 **xXxXx**

That night I find myself sitting on Tobias's bed, watching the skyline from the window as I wait for him to get home. I check the clock; he was supposed to be here nearly ten minutes ago. I met him and Zeke at the control room, but Tobias asked me to wait for him. He gave me his key, and said if I wanted to I could wait at his apartment. The thought was tempting, so I am.

It's almost ten o'clock, and my eyelids feel heavy when I hear the door open. I peek through my eyelashes. Tobias's footsteps sound dense, and sluggish; he kicks his shoes off carelessly by the door, and then I hear him getting closer.

He drops down beside me, jostling the mattress. My body jumps with it, and I open my eyes, meeting his sleepy, blue ones. The corner of his mouth tugs into a smile, and he yawns, "sorry it took me so long," Tobias whispers, "I lost track of time."

"It's alright," I say, smiling back, then I ask, " Anything more on the missing footage?" Tobias nods his head, but I can tell he is aggravated by something.

"Yes," he sighs, his voice soft, "But whoever did it, they're getting away with it. They wore a mask... and we only have the few seconds leading up to the camera getting smashed. No other camera picked up anybody acting suspicious it seems. Zeke's been looking into that," Tobias says, "but so far, nothing else." He sits up beside me, then shifts so he is in front of me. He tugs me up, pulling me toward him and a moment of bravery washes over me; I shift, swinging a leg over him so I am sitting in his lap. I bring my hands up, gripping his shoulders so they stop shaking. Tobias sits up straighter, his arms secure themselves around my waist and he hums against my lips as we kiss, "I don't want to talk about work anymore," he says, brushing his nose along my jaw.

"What do you want to talk about?" I ask, almost breathless. He laughs quietly, but his entire body shakes.

"Am I making you nervous again?" He teases. I bite my lip, feeling my own smile.

"No," I retort, "who gave you that idea?" Tobias pulls back to look at me, and I want to focus on his eyes, but his fingers nearly touch the skin beneath the hem of my shirt and all I can do is try to make myself breathe normally.

"How was seeing your parents?" He asks after a moment, slipping the other hand through my hair to push it out of my face.

"Good," I say, nodding, "I'm glad I got to see them. I told my mother about you." For a moment, he stills and I wonder if maybe I shouldn't have done that.

"Did you?" He asks.

"Yes," I reply carefully, "I only told her your name is Four..." then I blush, "...and that we're together." Tobias relaxes slightly; he buries his face into my shoulder, his lips press slow kisses to my tattoo. It is hard to focus when he does things like this.

"What did she say?" Tobias asks, his voice full of curiosity again. I mentally breathe a sigh of relief.

"She said you sound like a wonderful guy," I say, watching him smirk, "and that I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

Tobias smiles, "your mother sounds very smart."

"She is," I say, longingly, "sometimes it's easy to talk to her like that..."

"She's your mother," he says. He falls silent for a few moments, then looks into my eyes, "I used to have good conversations with my mother... I was only about six, but she always talked to me like I was old enough to understand things."

I smile, the thought brings an image into my mind; I realize this is the first thing he has told me about his family. I ask my question carefully, watching for a bad reaction.

"Do you not talk to her anymore?" I ask. Tobias nods once, a sad look on his face.

"My mother passed away, around the time I was turning seven," he says, clearing his throat. "Only Zeke and Uriah, and Tori knew that... and now you." I'm not sure if I should apologize—he almost looks like he is trying to avoid hearing one; like I will look at him differently. And for a moment I do; he lost his mother so young.

"She loved you a lot," I say, earning a nod.

"She did," he smiles, "She always made it a point to tell me that."

"It sounds like you had a really strong relationship with her." Tobias nods again; I won't press him on anything more, I have decided to take information as it comes from him. It is easy to see that he is very private with his life, but I can also see that he is trying to let me in.

"I can't say the same about my father," he says quietly, "but that's a whole other story... maybe I'll tell you about it someday." I watch as his features contort from nervous to something close to... _anger?_ I remember him telling me his father sent him off to school, for what I first believed was misbehaving, but now I'm not so sure.

We talk more about my family, and he tells me a little more about his mother. He tells me is an only child, and that he has always lived in Chicago for as long as he can remember. He tells me his father lives out in New York as well, but that he stayed here for school, "My father liked the education standards they provided here," he says to me, "but he preferred the political job opportunities in New York. Without me, and my mother, he didn't have to worry about taking everything and leaving for his job." I get the sense the only feeling of family he ever had was when his mother was alive.

"My father went to this school here," I tell him, "and he loved it, so he thought we would, too."

"Do you?"

"Yes," I say, but I feel a twinge of guilt in my stomach; I haven't exactly been the best student as of late. I haven't ignored my studies, or the work along with them, but I haven't been paying them all the attention I should be.

"You sound unsure," Tobias says. I shrug.

"It's like I've said—knowledge is more for my brother than it is for me. I like more hands-on... not book smart."

"I've always found both easy," Tobias says thoughtfully, "book smart, or hands on... they always came easily to me."

It is late when I notice him starting to fall asleep beside me. I feel tired too, and I have never slept in the same bed as a boy, but I don't want to make him move to the floor a second time. I don't want to make him stay awake to walk me back either; I wouldn't agree to it if he offered anyway.

Just as I think this, Tobias lifts his head off the pillow, and peeks up at the clock. With a quiet sigh, he starts with, "I can take the fl—," My hand covers his mouth.

"—stay. _Sleep_." Tobias smiles against my palm, and for a moment I expect him to stubbornly take the floor, except he doesn't. Instead, he stretches out on his stomach, pulling the blanket up over me. He keeps his body above the blanket, pressed against my side, and he feels warmer than the blanket.

I want to tell him he doesn't have to do that, but at the same time I couldn't be more grateful. I turn my body on the side, facing him, and watch him as he falls asleep. I count his even breaths until I'm too tired to keep track.

 **xXxXx**

The next morning, I accidentally oversleep.

Tobias sleeps beside me, snoring into my neck. His breath tickles my skin, and I realize that at some point during the night he wrapped his arms around me, and I curled into him. My skin is tacky with sweat; the heat from his body and from the sunlight in the room combined is stifling.

It's almost ten; I will be late for class, but the panic doesn't surface like it once would have. I've never cut school, and I could still make it for my next class, but my body is still heavy with sleep, that I don't want to move. I stare up at the ceiling for a few minutes, debating whether or not I should wake him up and get up, myself. After a moment, I lightly shake his arm and he stirs awake. "What time is it?" He asks, his voice thick with sleep. He cranes his neck around to see the clock, and then turns back over to me, groaning, "shit, how did it get so late?"

"Time flies," I offer, running my fingers over the blanket. Tobias chuckles beside me, shaking the mattress.

"You have to go, Tris," he says, but it sounds empty, uncommitted. _I know I_ have _to_. _I just don't_ want _to_. And we don't—we just stare at each other for a few minutes, in silence. Tobias grabs my hand in his, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.

"I'm still in the same clothes from yesterday," I scowl. "I wouldn't be able to get back to my dorm to change."

"I can give you a new shirt," Tobias shrugs.

"I don't think your shirts would fit me—actually, I know they wouldn't," I laugh. But I nod anyway, because the thought of wearing his scent all day is just as pleasing. He sits up to kick the blanket out of the way and stands, heading toward the dresser. As I watch him, I notice each movement is fluid, effortless—like he knows what he's doing at every second. He's not stiff, or in some uncomfortable skin, he's perfect. I'm staring at him so intently, that I don't notice the amused look he gives me until I meet his eyes.

I feel the blush creep into my cheeks, and I have look down at the blanket to control it.

He crosses the room, back over to me, and hands me the sweater. I take it from his outstretched hand, but I don't make a move to put it on just yet. I can't change in front of him. He must sense my uneasiness because he heads into the bathroom, but closes the door only halfway. I hear the tap turn on, and I lean forward to see what he's doing. He brushes his teeth, and his eyes meet mine in the mirror. I can hear his laugh, low and soft, as I try to look anywhere but at him again. I realize he's giving me this time to change.

Except he didn't shut the door all the way for a reason— _Two can play it that way_. I have never been sexy, or anything close, but to win this game I have to play the part somehow. I pull my shirt up over my head, not allowing shyness to spike up my fear. The water in the bathroom continues, but all other movement stops. I pick his sweater up off the bed, and pull it over my head slowly, covering my chest first, then my stomach, until no skin is showing anymore.

The sweater is warm and it smells like him. My heart pounds in my ears and I can only hope he witnessed everything. The sleeves of the shirt go past my fingers, so I roll them up twice, to my wrists. The water stops, and after a few moments, Tobias comes back out. His skin holds a light shade of pink as he looks me over, and then he smirks, "I like how you look in my shirt."

"Even though I'm practically swimming in it?" I tease, slipping my fingers through his.

"It looks good on you," Tobias says, tilting my chin up to kiss me. His fingers ease into my hair, and he presses his lips to my cheek, moaning, "Really good."

"The only thing?" I ask bravely. He laughs, shaking his head.

"It looks good off of you, too," he whispers, pressing a kiss beneath my ear. Something inside of me stirs, strong and carnal. He pulls back to look at me, "I don't think I've ever had a better night's sleep... maybe you should stay here more often," he teases. I know that if I don't spend nights back at the dorm eventually I'll be caught sneaking back during the day, or Christina will assume things. I'm not sure which is worse.

"You haven't heard me talk in my sleep yet," I shake my head. "My mother always used to tell me she'd hear me through my walls at night, talking—mostly gibberish—in my sleep." Tobias grins, sliding his nose along my jaw.

"Do you, really?"

I shrug, and say, "sometimes. Not that I make much sense."

"Hmm, I'll have to stay awake and listen then," I shake my head, and he can only laugh in response.

 **xXxXx**

I make it to my second class of the morning and I am the first one there; I breathe a sigh of relief and wait for Christina to show up.

Eventually she and Will walk side by side, laughing about something. Christina spots me and waves. She kisses Will, a little longer, and sloppier, than I'm used to seeing—I look down, afraid that I'm intruding on their private moment.

They share a goodbye and Will heads off down the hall. Christina sits down beside me then, her eyes immediately scanning over me, "where were you this morning?" She asks, smirking at me, "Four's sweater?"

My lips press into a hard line for a moment, "I just got back. I didn't have time to change clothes." She's gaping at me, and for a few seconds I'm confused by her reaction.

"Oh my god, did you—," she looks around, making sure it's only us. She lowers her voice, "—did you sleep with him?" I tense up. Sometimes I hate how unfiltered she can be.

I shake my head, glaring at her, "No!" She looks disappointed. "I didn't sleep with him... not in the way you're thinking."

"So, wait you did sleep with him," Christina says, factually, "you just didn't... _have sex_?" My face feels like it will melt off.

"He let me stay over," I explain quickly, "We were too tired, I didn't want him to walk me back like that."

"Aww," Christina laughs, biting her thumb nail. People walk by us now, some filing in to their seats, and others just walking over to talk to their friends. "That is so sweet," she says, just as our teacher begins.

Class is almost half over when Peter limps in.

There's a blackish, blue-purple discoloration around his eye, and another good sized bruise just beneath his chin. The split in his lip has scarred over, and the cut above his eye has become a scab. He looks sickly pale, and his face is swollen. I feel pride for Edward, and nothing for Peter.

He limps over to his seat, with the help of Molly, and sits down. I notice his shirt is shaped weird, and realize there must be a brace around his ribs; _had Edward kicked him at some point?_ Christina watches them, just as amused as I am. I can only imagine how wounded Peter's pride is right now—he bragged about how he would be victorious; he bragged to me about it, and I watched him fail.

At least for now, he is too battered and bruised to hurt me.

 **xXxXx**

Christina and I head down to dinner later on. The cafeteria isn't as full as it usually is, tables hold one or two students. "Where is everybody?" Christina asks, sitting down next to Lynn. Lynn sits across from me.

She shrugs, "Don't know. So is it true? I heard Peter can walk again..."

"Yeah, he's back in class," Christina nods with a scowl on her face. "Though I think losing wounded his ego a little bit. I haven't heard any snide remarks..."

" _Yet,_ " Lynn says. She turns to me, a devilish glint in her eyes, "So... you slept with Four?" I glare at Christina, who's smirking into her mashed potatoes. She nearly chokes on the first bite.

"I did not sleep with him," I clarify, "Nothing like _that_ happened."

"You're blushing," Lynn comments.

"Obviously," I sigh hotly, shaking my head.

"It's not like I asked for details," Lynn says, "that's Christina's line of questioning. I just get them from her later."

"You know we're joking," Christina says, "besides, we just want you to be...you know, less _stiff_." I give her another look and she laughs, "Oh come on, Tris. We have talked about much worse, believe me. You know Will and I did it."

"Would you admit that with him sitting next to you?" I ask. She nods.

"Will blushes easily," she laughs, "Of course I would!" I sigh.

"I'm not as open as you guys."

"We'll get you there," it sounds more like a promise. She looks at Lynn, "hey, have you seen Marlene today? Or Uriah, for that matter?"

Lynn snorts, "Where do you think they are? They've been gone all day. They didn't go to class, and I think we all know what they've been up to." She smirks slightly. I don't want to finish her thought process, but my thoughts are cut short as Peter stalks into the room.

"Is it just me, or does he have a knack for timing?" Christina says, rolling her eyes, "I wonder what he wants now..." Except Peter doesn't come over to us—he looks as smug as always. Will and Al enter after him, both of them wear an expression I don't think I like.

"What's wrong?" Christina asks, standing up, she crosses the space to Will's arms.

"Will and I were on our way to the practice room with Uriah," Al says, "and we found Eric and Four, they were fighting." _Fighting?_

"Like arguing?" Christina asks, biting her nail.

"No," Al shakes his head, "like physical. Four might be hurt... but Eric is worse."

"What were they fighting about?" I ask immediately.

"Don't know," Will says quietly, "but we had to find you. Apparently one of Four's hits broke the piercings in Eric's lip. He looked bad when I left... Four's hands were covered in blood, I'm not sure if any of it was his, though." _He never wants to fight Eric... something happened, Eric provoked him somehow_. _Tobias was fine this morning_...

"I want to see him," I say.

 **Xxxxx**

It feels like an eternity from the school to the pit, my heart shoving its way up my throat the closer we get. Tori is the first person I see, blood-stained rags in her hands. I don't want to look, but I can't look away either.

I hear Eric shouting, and as we turn the corner it gets louder, "Fuck you, Eaton!" He spits at the wall, his fingers hold a rag around an ice pack on his face. There's a group of men around him, and one of them is Edward, the boy from the fight.

Eric's eye is already swelling. He pulls the rag away, to use the cleaner side and I see what Tobias has done to him. There are no piercings in his lip anymore, they're gone replaced by caked, dried blood. His nose looks crooked― _maybe broken_ ―with more blood dripping and some dried blood above his upper lip. His chin is swollen, but there's too much red to see if any discoloration has started. Eric puts the rag back over the mangled mess, and as he spots me he looks like he's ready to spit in my direction instead of the wall, this time.

 _Tobias did all that?_ Eric continues to shout at us.

Will quickly guides me past him; I see Zeke, Marlene, and Uriah all the way at the end. Tobias's slumped form takes in deep breaths, sitting against the wall. He's glaring at the floor, holding a red-stained rag around his hand. There is blood on his chin, his neck, and his shirt.

Zeke spots me and taps his shoulder. Tobias looks up at me and his expression shifts from anger to shame. Instinctively, I kneel down beside him, "Tris, I'm―,"

"―What happened?" I ask, pulling the rag away to look. Three of his knuckles are split open, and one of them looks dislocated, but as I look at his face it's not the pain that bothers him. He doesn't look me in the eyes; instead, he just watches as I wrap his fingers back up.

"Eric had some things to say..." Uriah speaks up, "about you... and about..." he looks unsure of if he can say it, and I remember Tobias telling me last night he and Zeke, and Tori, knew about certain things; This must be one of them.

"What did he say?" I ask Tobias.

"...Eric says a lot of shit," Tobias seethes, glancing up at the brothers, "except this time it wasn't just some bullshit he came up with." I see Zeke and Uriah nod, looking afraid to say the wrong thing. I must be right.

"What did he say?" I ask again.

"I lost control..." Tobias says, shaking his head, "... Eric said I was doing you, because you're _young_... and you're _new_... that you don't know any better about me... he said things about my father, that nobody else knew about... until now, when he decided to say them publicly," he winces as he pulls the rag back and he tries to get rid of the blood between his fingers, but it stains his skin, in between the lines and crevices.

"What did he say about your father?" I ask quietly. I see him glance up at the others, unsure of what to say.

"Not here," he says. I stand up, holding my hand out for him. Tobias doesn't move. I reach lower, until my hand is eye level with his face. He sighs, and grabs my hand. He stands easily, releasing my hand to cover the fresh blood oozing from his cuts.

"It's a good thing blood doesn't make you uneasy," Uriah comments, nudging my arm. I can only offer him a silent nod, and soon I am following Tobias back to his apartment.

 **xxxxx**

The light in Tobias's apartment is slightly better. I can see there's a gash on his bottom lip, already beginning to heal, and the red on his shirt almost looks black now―I shudder at the thought that it's probably Eric's blood. I reach up, and run my thumb carefully over his lips. I wonder if he felt it, or if he even knows about it.

This time he looks me in the eyes, but there is still a sadness to them. I ask, "What things did Eric say?" Tobias takes the rag off of his hand, and throws it into the sink with a wet slap. He sighs, long and tired.

"This wasn't how I wanted to tell you..." he says, more to himself than me.

"Tell me," I insist, softly.

"Well for a start, it will explain why nobody knows my real name; I'm just Four to everyone who doesn't know Tobias." He sits down in the chair in front of me. We are now eye level, "I don't let people know about my father, or my family in general. I don't tell them about me, because they would all look at me like I'm damaged... but when I told you about my mother, you never looked at me any differently. Not that I could tell, anyways." I don't think it's possible to call him damaged; if there's one thing I've noticed about him, it's how high he holds himself, how tall he stands in a room full of people, and how when he's supposed to be weak, he's strong. I sit down in the other chair and wait for him to continue.

"My mother was skittish; she always sat on the edge of chairs, and she was always aware of her surroundings. She always made sure she had ways of escaping, wherever she was. Except for in the presence of my father. My father used to beat her. I remember watching her back hit the walls of our living room, almost every other night, with so much force... _somehow_ he had never broken any of her ribs... _somehow_ my mother always took it. She was always afraid; she taught me to steal moments alone... She never showed my father any weakness―I think that's what angered him more. The thought that he couldn't control her, maybe?" Tobias's breaths shake as he speaks.

What he tells me next makes my blood run cold, "and my father used to beat me too..." I feel the first tear roll down my face, and I try to wipe at it quickly, but I know he saw it. "Everything I did wrong, I was either beaten or locked in the closet upstairs to think about what I'd done." I want to stop listening—to stop picturing a small Tobias learning such violence so young. But I know he needs to talk about it―that's why he's telling me.

I don't see him any different. He is still the same Tobias to me.

"...It wasn't always with his fists. He would use his belts too," Tobias bites his lip for a moment, looking down at his hands. He continues, "it got worse after my mother died. He would come home from work, and he'd be pissed off. I always tried to eat early, and stay in my room. But there were times he made me sit at the table with him, so I had no choice... If I missed a chore, or if I didn't finish my homework... stupid stuff that could be easily fixed. There were nights where he beat me so severely that I couldn't sleep. There were times when he would hit me in the face, and I still went to school. I would have to lie and make up some stupid excuses so nobody would know. I figured they had to have known when it occurred more and more... I don't know why I still call him my father," I picture a younger Tobias, maybe fifteen, in his room, trying not to show weakness. It turns my stomach.

I'm not sure what to say; to say I'm sorry would be inappropriate. _One of my father's co-workers was accused of something like this a few years ago_...

"He was sick of me not being the obedient child he wanted, so he sent me to school up here. He assumed I would hate it and would want to go back home; he couldn't understand that I was tired of the abuse. I don't think he believes he has ever done anything wrong." Instead of saying something, I reach across the space between us and grab his hand. _This doesn't change how I see him―because he's nothing like his father. Not the Tobias I know_.

He looks stunned, and continues; his voice sounds brittle, "after what happened tonight... I scared _myself_ , Tris. I kept asking, after I calmed down a little, if this was how my father felt when he beat me." He battles with himself, between right and wrong. I've never seen him cry, but a few tears stream down his face and my fingers itch to wipe them away.

"You're not your father, Tobias. Okay?" I ask quietly, "you're _not_."

"Suppose this is only the first time I lose control?" Tobias asks, desperate, "what if...what if I hit you?"

"Don't think like that," I say firmly, "because that won't happen. You're better than that. I know you are." He stares into my eyes for a few minutes, unmoving, then he wipes his face dry, and sighs.

"You're not looking at me like I'm a kicked puppy, or something..."

"Well, you're not." I say, and we welcome the silence between us as he mulls over everything he has told me, and I take it in like poison. I can't stand the thought of Tobias, helpless and hurting. I have met this side of him—strong, reserved, and _whole_ , not damaged. Not a kicked puppy, and certainly not a monster.

 **xXxXx**

 _Tobias Eaton's POV_

I join Zeke in the control room again, monitoring screens for most of the day; Zeke did manage to find the footage from moments before the camera was smashed, much to Max's delight and Eric's annoyance. I still want to believe Eric is somehow a part of the incident.

I never got to see the footage, however. Zeke turned it in immediately. He didn't recognize whoever they were; they had covered their face. He only recalled that they were of average height and build, and white skin. That could be anybody, by that description.

"Wow—!" Zeke boasts, glancing down at his watch, "it's only nine a.m. and you're actually not miserable!" I roll my eyes at him, "That definitely isn't because of the run this morning..." he suggests.

"You must have missed my heap of blankets on the ground this morning," I say, "because I slept on the floor."

"She still spent the night," he laughs, "and you're not miserable. I call that a win."

"A win?" I shake my head, "you and ' _scoring_ '."

"Have you ever even kissed a girl before her?" He asks, looking smug, "No, no you haven't. So I'm scaling your point system down by _a lot_."

"There's no point system," I tell him, "this isn't a game." Zeke snorts.

"You're whipped."

"At least I've been able to keep her," I retort—much to Zeke's amusement; he bursts out laughing, and nods.

"Somehow," he retorts, "maybe she's not that smart." I almost tell him he's wrong—because he is, but I just keep my mouth shut. She is definitely smart, she just doesn't know everything about me yet.

And the thought of that makes me sad; Tris is so different from other girls I've met, I want her to know everything. But at the same time, I'm so ashamed of where I came from... so I just hope that when she finally does know everything about me, she doesn't see me differently. I hope that she doesn't see me as weak; however, I would rather she see me as weak than a cowardly monster.

"Speaking of not smart," Zeke grins, "Marlene and Uriah?"

"What about them?" I ask. Zeke gives me a look of shock.

"For once I know something around here you don't," he snickers, "They've been spending a lot of time together."

"Have they?" I hadn't noticed. He lets out a large sigh, shaking his head at me.

"Hint: they're together, _together_."

"So?" I ask, "Good for them. Do you not like Marlene?"

"I do," Zeke shrugs, "I just figured Uriah would have mentioned it, is all..." I hold back my snide comment about his point system—Uriah created that point system with him, but it seems he may have finally ditched the idea.

"What did Max have to say?" I ask him, to change the conversation, "about the footage?"

"Just 'great!' no 'thanks', like always," Zeke rolls his eyes, "all boss man and serious."

"Eric?"

"Just pouted in the corner while Max spoke," he says, then smirks, "you know, I get the feeling he wanted us to fail."

"No, Eric?" I feign shock. And then we burst into laughter.

 **xxxxx**

Sometime later, after I have zoned out in front of my monitor, I hear an obnoxious yawn and I see Zeke stand, in the corner of my eye.

"Ready to head down?" He asks, logging off his computer. I nod, and log out, and then we leave the control room. Zeke makes it blatantly obvious that the door is locked, by trying to break in himself—basically, banging on the door and trying to pull the knob off. I roll my eyes, "idiot."

"I had to make sure the door was really, _really_ locked," he says in a mocking tone, "Eric might think we were inviting the trespassers in."

"Speaking of Eric," I say, "what's he got planned tonight? Any idea?"

Zeke shrugs, "I heard some buzz about a big fight, but most of the fights have been shit lately... Maybe he should have mud fights—"

"—You're a pig," I tell him, chuckling.

"And you must be gay," Zeke fires back, "why would you _not_ want to see two girls fight it out—wearing barely _anything_ —,"

"—I think I know why you don't have a girlfriend right now," I shake my head. The pit is full of people, loud and rowdy, when we arrive. For a while, we stay up on the mezzanine, watching the crowd below. Zeke makes a rude gesture at the back of Eric's head and I laugh so hard, my fingers tighten on the railing for balance. He really is taking this joke quite far, but it's the most laughter I've let out in a long time—without the help of alcohol.

I know Tris is here somewhere, I briefly saw her on the cameras when they came in. I don't pay attention to most of what Zeke is saying, but he points and I realize he must be talking about Tris. I can feel her eyes on me, and immediately I find hers across the room on the lower level. I wave, earning a good laugh and a punch from Zeke.

" _Whipped_ ," is all he says as we start down the stairs.

I roll my eyes, and retort, "Definitely." At that, Zeke laughs so loud it almost sounds like a howl. I won't argue with him when he's right—because for once, he's right. When we cross the gap, I gather Tris into my arms and press her tight against my body. She's warm, and so small I can easily lift her off her feet. She kisses me, briefly; much to my surprise, and disappointment that we're not alone right now. "Miss me?" I ask.

Tris grins, "a little bit." I hold her close to my side, and we listen as Eric goes over the rules for the fight. I notice the others, like Tris, wear the same anticipating looks—apparently this is one fight they've been waiting for. Zeke must notice the same thing, because the bored look he gives me matches mine.

I look at Uriah, whose arm is around Marlene. She leans into him comfortably; like how Tris and I are. Lynn is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, cracking her knuckles like she's the one about to fight. I think she's hoping Eric will pick her to fight someday. Shauna talks to her friend, Lauren, neither of them is engrossed in the fight. I couldn't care less about one of Eric's fights, myself—I watch Tris instead. The corners of her mouth twitch each time the boy—Edward—gets a rough hit in, and she scowls every time the other boy, I think his name is Peter, gets one. There is a glint her eyes as Peter tires out; she looks blood-thirsty. And then she turns to me, and asks, "what?"

The people around us erupt into booming roars; I have to lean closer so she'll hear me, and say, "I don't think I've ever seen you this engrossed in one of the fights. You look almost lethal."

Tris smirks, "that's because Peter's losing." I don't expect her answer to be so cruel. _Does this mean she has the same sick, triumphant streak that I do at times?_ "I'll explain it later," she says. When my bewilderment wears off, I nod and she turns back to the fight.

Peter goes down, and blood drips onto the mat beneath him. Edward only has a split lip, and some bruised, cut open knuckles. Eric looks to me, and Zeke, to go to pick him up from the mat. I give Tris's hand a light squeeze, and we pick Peter up and carry him to the makeshift infirmary near the tattoo parlor. It was Tori's idea, since too many idiots try to play up their bravado and end up getting their teeth knocked out instead. I assume Peter, here, is no different.

Sometimes, I wonder how different things would be if we hadn't made Tori one of the leaders; Eric and I would be at each other's throats, more so than now. _This place would crumble_...

"He looks like shit," Zeke laughs, smudging the blood on his hands, "hopefully he's not dead. That was a brutal kick..."

"I don't really care to find out," I say. I just want to get back to Tris. I don't intend on staying in this room until Peter wakes up, so once we deposit him onto a cot, we head back to the main area.

I see Tris, standing alone with an unreadable expression—I wonder what she's thinking about. I notice she is very reserved; she thinks about everything. I wonder how fast her mind works with all that practice. I am close enough now that I grab her at the soft bend in her arm, and pull her away from the group for a moment. I want her to explain her comment earlier, about Peter losing.

Eric wastes no time, starting the next fight. We disappear into the crowd, finding a quieter area, by the stairs that lead up to the mezzanine, "what was that all about?" I ask.

"Peter is..." she hesitates, searching for the right words to say; I watch her, and wait. She sighs, "Peter is to me, what Eric is to you." And suddenly, it all makes perfect sense— _Peter is a sadistic asshole_. And had he not lost tonight, Eric might have had more faith in him in the future.

"You haven't even been here half a year, and you already have an enemy." A part of me is joking with her, while the other half is serious. Because the first time I met Eric, we became enemies, so I don't have much room to talk there. Tris pouts, "you wanted to see Peter hurt?" Slowly, she nods.

"Sort of... yes." She answers, looking up at me. "The first time I met him he tried to shut my arm in a door." Sounds like he preys on the weak—exactly like Eric. Except I don't see Tris as weak—that must be why he doesn't like her.

"Why did he do that?" It sounds like a demand, and I try to stifle the tough act for a moment; she doesn't need me going after Peter—in Zeke's words, he could already be dead.

"Because I was new," Tris mumbles. _What a stupid reason_ , I think. _Peter is definitely an asshole_ , "and apparently nobody was talking about him and his achievements."

"I can't imagine he has many friends with that type of greeting," I say; she nods.

"He has followers." She says, sighing, "but I don't want to talk about Peter anymore." I don't either. I smile, and drape my around her waist.

"Okay." And we rejoin the others for the next fight.

 **xXxXx**

I can't remember the last time I ever slept in late, but when I open my eyes the sunlight streams in through my window and my clock reads just after ten-thirty. It's unlike Zeke to let me sleep past five am. Given I've had over twelve hours of sleep, I should feel awake, but I feel half alive and disoriented.

From what I can recall, no nightmares.

Waking up alone feels strange, though every day before last it was a routine. I picked this apartment, away from the rest, for that sole purpose. To be alone. However, I find myself missing Tris's company. And her small, warm body beside mine. She's warmer than any blanket, or embrace, I've ever found comfort in. There is definitely something about her that has me, in Zeke's words, whipped. I've never wanted to share my space with another human being before.

Even when Shauna and Zeke visit, I usually find myself thankful for the peace that follows after they leave.

I get up and shower. I don't bother with breakfast, there is barely anything to make in my apartment anyway. On my way to the control room, I look for Tori. I want to ask her about the boy from last night, how he is after tending to him. I'm only worried that Tris will find more pleasure in his pain if Tori tells me he's not good. She is finishing a tattoo on Shauna's ribs when I find her. I almost feel embarrassed, seeing so much skin on Shauna.

"Where have you been?" Tori asks, amused, "Eric was looking for you about twenty minutes ago."

"I wonder what he could possibly want this time," I sigh heavily, leaving on my elbows over the counter, "How's Peter doing, after last night?"

Tori gives me a strange look, the needle still buzzing in her hand, "Since when do you care about a kid, Eric appointed, that got the shit kicked out of him?"

I roll my eyes, "I don't, not really... does it matter? I just wanted to know."

"Don't go soft on us," she snorts, "I still need someone that can put the reigns on Eric."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I tell her with a smirk, "But you seem to think I only live to piss him off."

"I only stick around to see it happen," she says, her eyes focused on the lines she is inking. I can't help but laugh—I am glad that Tori never fell for Eric's charm, _if one could call it that_. I assume it is why we get along so well, I can confide in her, and she confides in me. "Peter left about an hour ago; he looks like shit, worse than last night, but he'll heal. In what condition, I can't be sure... bruised ego, no doubt. I told him it's best he stay away from classes today unless he wants the teachers getting bent out of shape."

"My sister is always telling me how much he boasts about himself," Shauna says, rolling her eyes, "Maybe a bruised ego will knock him down a few notches."

"If he's anything like Eric," I say, "I doubt it." I remember my first fight with Eric. If I bruised his ego, he didn't let it show. He made it known, at least to me, that he was furious about the outcome—losing couldn't _knock him down a few notches_ , however.

"I think that's why Eric chose him," Shauna frowns.

"Not surprising," I say, then smirk, "perhaps Eric shouldn't have put so much faith in Peter... it was obvious Edward was going to win from the start, don't you think?" Shauna laughs, and I see a hint of a smile on Tori's face.

"I think we all knew," Tori says. She looks up at me, raising an eyebrow, "Shouldn't you be with Zeke, in the control room? Or are you afraid that's where Eric is right now?"

I shrug, "I'm already two hours late."

"Let's not make it three," she says, though I know she really doesn't care. I say my goodbyes and head for the controls.

Zeke and I spend another long day looking through footage—I try to watch Eric, where he goes and what he does, while Zeke tries to annoy me by changing the screens. It takes all my self-control not to throw the mouse at him; just when I get a visual on Eric, he changes it. And I know he's doing it on purpose.

Eric talks with the boy—Edward—who won the last fight. I wonder what that's about, what Eric has up his sleeve now. I can't imagine him restoring any faith in Peter after that brutal loss.

At some point, there is a knock on the door and I know it is Tris. I wanted to see her tonight, and I wanted her to wait for me where I knew she would be safe. I give her the key to my apartment and I tell her I will be there at ten.

I'm left empty handed on Eric's plans again when I glance up at the clock, and see that it's later than I expect it to be. It's ten past. I remember that Tris is waiting for me, and that if I want to see her before she has to go I should leave now. Zeke looks half-alive, sitting in the blue glow from the screen, with his head slumped against his hand. "I think the cameras can handle themselves," I say, standing up to stretch, "I don't know about you, but I'd like to get some sleep."

"I'm right behind you," Zeke mumbles, standing up, "see you, man." We leave the controls and part ways down the hall; Zeke towards the pit—probably looking for Uriah—and I head up the stairs, to the apartments, for mine. I tiredly search for my keys, and quickly remember that I gave them to Tris to wait for me.

When I get the door open, the lights are off but I sense her presence; I see her across the room.

Tris sits on my bed, staring out the window. As she turns her head toward me, the city lights make the side of her face, and her blonde hair, glow. I kick my shoes off by the door and I drop down beside her on the bed, hearing the springs screech in protest. I smile at her, and watch her through heavy eyelids. "Sorry it took me so long, I lost track of time," I yawn, turning my face into the pillow.

I can hear the smile in her voice, "it's alright. Anything more on the missing footage?" _Right_ — _work_. But I appreciate her interest, at least I know she's been listening.

"Yes," I say with a sigh, keeping my voice low, "But whoever did it, they're getting away with it. They wore a mask... and we only have the few seconds leading up to the camera getting smashed. No other camera picked up anybody acting suspicious it seems. Zeke's been looking into that. But so far, nothing else." I sit up then, moving so I am in front of her. I hold her hands and pull her up, but she takes over from there, swinging a leg over mine so she is straddling me. I notice her hands shake slightly, as she settles herself there. It feels like every nerve is awake, alert, anticipating her next move. I feel a surge of energy through my body, straight to my groin. I pray she doesn't notice how much she affects me.

I straighten up, so she is sitting on my lap and not so close to _there_. My arms snake around her waist, still trying to keep her as close as possible, and I kiss her slowly, "I don't want to talk about work anymore." _I don't want to talk anymore, period_. _I have a few other things in mind more interesting than talking_...

"What do you want to talk about?" Tris asks, in a breathy voice. I laugh, out of nerves, and focus on her to distract myself.

"Am I making you nervous again?" I ask. Her eyes look anywhere but mine. _I am right_. I decide to test the waters a little, my fingers find a strip of bare skin beneath her shirt. Lightly, I trace my fingers beneath it, enjoying the way her skin sets mine ablaze.

"No," She says, defiant, "who gave you that idea?" Her breaths come out in short, harsh patterns. I like this, this proximity we are sharing. I wish we could be alone like this always. For a moment I think, _how selfish of me to want to keep her all to myself_. But a moment later, as her eyes meet mine, I decide I don't care. I don't want to share her; I don't want to share our private moments. Only I get to see her like this, and I very much want to keep it like that.

"How was seeing your parents?" I ask, brushing her hair out of her eyes. I wish she didn't hide them from me, but I know she can't always help it.

"Good," Tris smiles, but there is an almost sad expression in her eyes. _She misses them_ , "I'm glad I got to see them. I told my mother about you." For a split second, everything stops. I wonder what name she told her mother, or what she told her mother in general for that matter.

"Did you?" I ask, calm.

"Yes," she says softly, "I only told her your name is Four..." she stops, blushes, then says, "...and that we're together." I don't know which is more comforting—that she told her mother my alias, or that she actually mentioned we're together. I feel relieved, but try to hide the ridiculous grin on my face. I kiss the tattoo along her collarbone, keeping her distracted while I figure out what to ask next.

"What did she say?" I ask, curiously.

"She said you sound like a wonderful guy," Tris answers. I smirk; I want to believe those weren't the _exact_ words, "and that I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

I smile, "your mother sounds very smart." I want to ask her if she happened to mention any of our eventful encounters, such as the Ferris wheel, or the knife throwing.

"She is," Tris says, adoration in her voice, "sometimes it's easy to talk to her like that..."

"She's your mother," I tell her, feeling a sense of longing for my own mother, and our old conversations, "I used to have good conversations with my mother... I was only about six, but she always talked to me like I was old enough to understand things."

Tris smiles, but hesitates as she asks, "Do you not talk to her anymore?" I nod, and try to keep the anguish off of my face. I'm not sure it works.

"My mother passed away, around the time I was turning seven," I clear my throat, the thought feels all too recent, _but that was so long ago now_. "Only Zeke and Uriah, and Tori knew that... and now _you_." She looks unsure of what to say at first, and at first I expect to hear an ' _I'm sorry for you loss_.'

"She loved you a lot," Tris says, her fingers knead into the fabric of my shirt. I am taken back by her statement, but I nod. _My mother did, she always made it known to me_.

"She did," I say, a smile crossing my features, "She always made it a point to tell me that."

"It sounds like you had a really strong relationship with her." I nod again, and I realize that she will not ask me anymore questions. Yet again she has stopped me in my tracks—she knew, she _felt_ the right thing to say, instead of just sympathetically apologizing.

"I can't say the same about my father," I say, trying to read her reaction. Her face remains calm, but I see questions in her eyes. I don't know if she would be ready to hear about my father... "but that's a whole other story... maybe I'll tell you about it someday." She nods, and we continue to talk about her family. She asks me some questions about my mother. We talk about school, "My father liked the education standards they provided here," I say, "but he preferred the political job opportunities in New York. Without me, and my mother, he didn't have to worry about taking everything and leaving for his job." She looks like she wants to say something, or ask a question, but instead she takes the conversation to a lighter note.

"My father went to this school here," Tris says, "and he loved it, so he thought we would, too."

"Do you?" I decide to ask. I can tell she does—but I want to hear her thoughts anyways.

"Yes," she speaks without conviction. I wonder if I am wrong this time.

"You sound unsure," I say softly. Tris just shrugs, and her nimble fingers brush the fallen hair from her eyes again.

"It's like I've said—knowledge is more for my brother than it is for me. I like more hands-on... not book smart." I find that hard to believe, but I realize perhaps she has a point. I have found her to be wiser in other ways; for one, observationally. She is smart about other people—she will figure things out about a person better, or quicker, than they will.

"I've always found both easy," I say, "book smart, or hands on... they always came easily to me."

The more we talk, the later it gets, and I eventually find myself dozing off to sleep beside her. I sigh, and start to sit up, "I can take the fl—," her hand covers my mouth.

"— _stay_. Sleep." She insists, and I can't help but smile. I stretch out on my stomach, and pull the blanket up over her, separating our bodies for her peace of mind. She sighs, but it sounds sincere, relaxed.

It only takes me minutes to fall asleep.

 **xXxXx**

I fully awake when I feel a nudge to my arm; Tris is still beside me, from last night. Except somehow, I have made my way beneath the blanket. Half of my body remained outside the blanket, at least.

"What time is it?" I ask, peering up at the clock. It's ten again. I groan, " _shit_ , how did it get so late?" Another day I have slept in, and I'm beginning to wonder if Zeke has, too.

"Time flies," Tris teases, sitting up. I can't help but laugh; it helps that she isn't freaking out.

"You have to go, Tris," I say; I make myself say the words, but I don't make myself mean them. I don't want her to go. And for a few minutes, we just stare at each other in comfortable silence. I hold her hand, my thumb brushes over her knuckles.

"I'm still in the same clothes from yesterday," Tris frowns, a deep furrow between her brows as she pouts, "I wouldn't be able to get back to my dorm to change."

"I can give you a new shirt," I offer.

"I don't think your shirts would fit me—actually, I know they wouldn't," She laughs lightly. Still, she nods. I head for the dresser, rummaging through the drawers until I find an old shirt, one that is smaller. When I turn back to Tris, I notice she is staring at me. It's amusing, how caught up in her tendencies she can actually be. She blushes, and averts her eyes down to the blanket.

I cross the space between us, and hand her the sweater. It's an old shirt, small—it is black, and long-sleeved. I notice she looks apprehensive, and I hope she doesn't assume I would make her change with me in the room. I touch her cheek, and then head for the bathroom.

I start to brush my teeth, when I notice she is still looking; this time it is her reflection in the mirror I am looking at, though. I laugh, quietly. I know I should close the door completely, but I can't help myself—she is full of surprises, I would hate to miss a second.

I notice she is no longer looking at me, but instead at the door. There is a look of determination on her face, and she reaches for the hem of her shirt. In a calculated motion, she pulls it up over her head and I almost hit the back of my throat with the toothbrush.

I was not expecting her to be so bold. Yet again, she has surprised me.

Her skin is a porcelain white; she looks so fragile. Thin but soft. My palms prickle, itching to feel the heat of her skin—forbidden skin, for that matter. No amount of ice cold water could calm me down right now.

I have to look away as she pulls my sweatshirt over her head. _Fuck_. Intense, and tempting—she knows exactly what she did to me. Technically, I did ask for it, and she knew that too. I close the door some more, and splash my face with cold water. I will myself to relax, and when I am presentable I head back out to see her.

She has rolled the sleeves up twice, but the bottom of the shirt falls past her hips and it is still quite large on her. She looks incredible, and I think she should keep it. "I like how you look in my shirt," I tell her.

"Even though I'm practically swimming in it?" She jokes, lacing her fingers with mine.

"It looks good on you," I reassure her, tilting her head up so I can kiss her properly. I feel hungry, and not for food suddenly, "Really good."

"The only thing?" She asks, her voice just above a whisper. I laugh.

"It looks good off of you, too," I say nonchalantly, playing along, "I don't think I've ever had a better night's sleep... maybe you should stay here more often." She looks hesitant to agree, and I decide maybe it's too soon to expect that she will.

"You haven't heard me talk in my sleep yet," Tris says. "My mother always used to tell me she'd hear me through my walls at night, talking—mostly gibberish—in my sleep." I grin, _interesting_.

"Do you, really?" Tris shrugs in response.

"Sometimes. Not that I make much sense."

"Hmm, I'll have to stay awake and listen then," I tell her, jokingly. She shakes her head, but laughs. I think to myself, _this feels like a good start to move us forward_.

 **xXxXx**

Shauna and I patrol the pit later on that night. She decides to take the mezzanine for a better vantage point, so I am stuck on the bottom floor—not that I mind it so much, because I know Tris and the others will be here eventually—but that also means I'll be in Eric's path at some point.

There's not much to keep an eye on; nothing exciting is happening tonight, the pit is not as crowded as it usually is. And besides making sure nobody lurks around the back, my job is a standstill. I stay with Zeke, and some of his friends, by the chasm, keeping watch around me. My legs feel too tired to walk around, so I lean against the railing. I haven't been paying much attention to what they've been talking about—I pretend I know what they're saying, and laugh when they do, but I'm focused on searching for Tris. I don't even know if she and the others will be here tonight if nothing is going on, so I can only hope.

"—she was loud—," I hear one of Zeke's friends say, and instantly I tune him out; another date where one of them got what he was going for. I shake my head; these guys stopped bugging me a long time ago about girls, and stuff like that—I couldn't be more thankful. They were all stupid enough to think they would actually get anything out of me, not that I had any details anyway.

It's not even that late yet, and most of the people around me are inebriated. I guess drinking is more fun than standing around, but I prefer a clear head most nights. When they hand me a bottle, I steal a quick sip but then set it down on the ground by my foot just to get it out of my hands. I don't need Eric telling Max I was drinking on my shift—but Eric does it all the time, so I could always fight back on that one.

 _Speaking of Eric_... I feel the scowl set into my face.

"Hey, Four," knuckles hit my shoulder, rather hard, though the tone of voice makes it seem like it was intended to look casual. To anyone sober, they would see right through it. I turn to face Eric. He is smirking at me.

"Eric," I say, unamused.

"Max was pleased about finding the missing footage," he starts, "but he'd like more. The time stamps leading up to the culprit getting into the pit... getting past us, to the halls—the apartments."

"Tell Max we are working on it," I say simply. I give him a stoic look; I know Eric a lot more than he thinks I do. I know that he is a great observer, and can almost always tell when someone tells him a lie. _Liars themselves would know when they heard one_...

"Working on it, really..." he laughs to himself, "How's the stiff doing?" It takes everything in me not to lash out at him, that Tris is none of his concern. Our relationship is none of his concern, for that matter. But his curiosity about Tris spikes up my need to protect her; he's curious, which is not a good sign. I need to deflect his attention.

"Well, she's not _dead_ ," I almost snarl, remembering the knives I threw at her—she might have been if Eric threw them... I tame my temper, "Why do you care?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to see you neglecting work, you know," Eric says, smug, "I mean she is young... willing to do anything for an older guy... that could get _distracting_ ," I feel my eyes narrow at him. This line of thought only mean one of two things; either he's planning on telling Max that I am not doing my job, because I am _distracted_ , as he not so subtly put it. Or that he's trying to get a rise out of me for the hell of it... _and it's working_. My nails dig into the palms of my hands, stinging the further they sink in. I decide to try and play dumb; as if daring him to continue.

"What are you insinuating?" My mistake—and his—because he does.

"Wait—," he grins, laughing loudly, "don't tell me... I bet she doesn't even know yet. I mean... that's a bit _fucked_ , don't you think?" He says it like an accusation; I bite my cheek, and in the next moment I am tasting blood. Eric snickers, "You're doing her and she knows nothing about you? ...unless you're not, then that's a little pathetic, too..." His voice becomes quiet next, and quiet with Eric is dangerous. He shrugs, "In that case, at least she won't end up like your mother."

I don't even register my arm swinging forward, until I hear the crack of Eric's nose and see his blood dripping down my hands. Before I can even stop myself, blinded by the anger, I am lunging for him. The back of his head collides with the metal railing, the connection sounds hollow. He lets out a pained scream, and tries to grab at my throat. He manages to get a hit in, at my mouth, but I barely feel it. My knee comes up, hitting him in the jaw next. Eric's hands fly up to his mouth, and part of me is hoping that I've just broken the bone. Everything around me is a blur, smudged by the red clouding my vision. I hear shouts, and yells to stop. People scramble away from us, while others get a closer look. A few try to hold me back, but I just push them out of the way. _I'm not done with him yet_.

I throw another punch, this time connecting with his mouth, and metal pierces my knuckles.

I feel more hands gripping at my jacket, my arms, while others try to help Eric up. I am being pulled away from him, though I try to break free. Eric spits at the railing, with blood pouring down his chin and neck, dripping onto his shirt. _This is his own fault—he started this_. The sight is almost pleasing—and then immediately I feel nauseous. _Was this how my father felt, after beating me?_ _Did I just prove Eric right?_ I turn away from Zeke, who's holding me back, and dry heave over the chasm.

I can't breathe. My entire body feels like it's on fire, every joint aches like poison has filled the crevices. My mouth salivates, but I can't get anything up. I can still hear Eric coughing, his throat gargles with blood, trying to spit more out, " _Fuck you!_ Just as bad as your _fucking_ father!" He shouts at me. _Just as bad as my father_ —he's not wrong. I am thankful that most of these people will not remember him shouting that at me tomorrow morning.

"Fucking _coward_ ," I hiss, willing the sickness to go away. Zeke drags me away from all of the noise, and when we get far enough away the ringing in my ears disappears. Footsteps run down the hall.

"What happened?" Uriah asks in a hushed voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zeke shake his head. The light above me is the only one lit in this hallway—it flickers, so I try to focus on the dying, blue glow.

"I don't even know," Zeke replies, "he was fine... standing beside me one minute... I didn't even see Eric... at first," I only hear bits and pieces, I barely focus on what he is saying, "But then he said... _doing her_... and then..."

 _Was this how my father felt? Was beating me an accomplishment for him?_ I think to myself. I knew it was only a matter of time before he pulled some stunt with what he knew. In front of all these people, he brings up my father. _Just as bad as my father_. The thought sinks like lead in my stomach, and the nauseous feeling returns. I try to hold back my gagging, and rest my head against the cool stone behind me.

Even worse, he dragged Tris into the conversation. I want to believe that I am nothing like my father, and that Tris will not become my victim like my mother was to my father... _but after what just happened, how can I be so sure anymore?_ I shut my eyes and try to breathe.

I feel cold hands wrap around one of mine, and then something damp. I peer through my eyelashes to see Marlene hovering over me, handing me a rag. I take it from her, without a word and press it to my wounds. My knuckle stings, a stab of something sharp, and I pull it close to my face to examine it. One of Eric's piercings juts out of the dip between my knuckles, the silver metal glistens beneath the light.

My fingers shake from adrenaline as I try to pull it out, so Marlene tries to pry it out, carefully. Blood beads from the puncture, and I place the rag over it again. She takes the piercing with her and stands up, returning to Uriah's side.

"—this is Eric's piercing," Marlene says as she hands it to Uriah. I see a smirk on his face a moment later, and I swallow bile. There is no enjoyment from what just happened; _I don't want to be a monster_.

The ringing in my ears is gone, but it sounds like I am stuck in a tunnel. Words and voices and shouts from Eric in the distance rattle around in my head, mercilessly. I try to zone the others out when they start discussing Eric, I don't want to know how he is. I don't care what his condition is, though I can imagine it's not the greatest at the moment. The rag chafes at my wounds, feeling like a sting from salt. I try to wipe most of the blood away, but it stains my skin like the reminder it is of my monstrous act. A new voice catches my attention.

"—Should we... —Tris?" _What about Tris?_ I see Marlene nod, and I notice it is Will. He starts down the hall, but I can't find it in me to tell him to stop. I don't want Tris to be here now, seeing me like this. I suddenly wonder how horrible my timing was: _was Tris here when it happened? Did she see any of it?_ If she did, I don't want to think of how I've just scared her away. It feels like all air has been cut off from my lungs— _what does she think of me now?_ I think of her sadistic streak from Peter's loss the other night, but this is much worse than that.

I'm not sure how long I sit there for, glaring at my bloody hands, but eventually I hear more footsteps amongst the others, talking quietly a few feet away. I try to suck in a few breathes, letting the cold from the stone seep in through the back of my shirt. I force myself to focus on something else, and I think about this morning; waking up to Tris beside me, and watching her change into my sweater. _I don't want to lose that_.

I hear Zeke mention her name, and I look up, meeting a pair of bright eyes. _She's here_ — _so she must not have seen what happened_. I frown; it would have been a little easier to explain, if she had but I'll think of a way. She kneels beside me, "— _Tris, I'm—_ ," I start to plead.

"―What happened?" Tris asks, pulling the rag away from my hands. I can feel her eyes, searching my face. I can't look at her; I can't show her this side of me.

"Eric had some things to say..." Uriah says quietly, "about you... and about..." he looks at me, and I know he wants to explain that Eric mentioned my father. I appreciate him not saying it outright.

"What did he say?" Tris asks me now.

"...Eric says a lot of _shit_ ," I growl, trying to soften my voice for her, "except this time it wasn't just some bullshit he came up with." Zeke and Uriah nod. I see Tris looking between the both of them, knowingly.

"What did he say?" She asks again.

"I lost control..." I shake my head, "... Eric said I was doing you, because you're young... and you're new... that you don't know any better about me... he said things about my father, that nobody else knew about... until now, when he decided to say them publicly," I wince as the rag pulls at the edges of my open skin, remembering mornings after my beatings when my shirts would cling to and bite the fresh wounds on my back.

"What did he say about your father?" Tris whispers. I shake my head.

"Not here," I plead. Tris stands, holding her hand out for me. I don't take it, until she reaches down further. Her hand rests at my eye level, and I sigh, giving in. I stand easily, careful not to pull her down with all my weight.

"It's a good thing blood doesn't make you uneasy," Uriah tries to make light of the conversation, but it only aggravates me. I know he means well... but now is not the time.

 **xxxxx**

We stand in the middle of my apartment, her fingers graze a cut on my lip and I take this moment to finally, really look at her. "What things did Eric say?" _She wastes no time_. I take the rag off and throw it into the sink. I can't help the long sigh I let out.

"This wasn't how I wanted to tell you..."

"Tell me," she insists, gently.

"Well for a start, it will explain why nobody knows my real name; I'm just Four to everyone who doesn't know _Tobias_." It feels foreign saying my real name. I sit down in the chair across from her, just about eye level with her, "I don't let people know about my father, or my family in general. I don't tell them about me, because they would all look at me like I'm damaged... but when I told you about my mother, you never looked at me any differently. Not that I could tell, anyways." She sits down in front of me.

"My mother was skittish; she always sat on the edge of chairs, and she was always aware of her surroundings. She always made sure she had ways of escaping, wherever she was. Except for in the presence of my father. My father used to beat her. I remember watching her back hit the walls of our living room, almost every other night, with so much force... somehow he had never broken any of her ribs... somehow my mother always took it. She was always afraid; she taught me to steal moments alone... She never showed my father any weakness―I think that's what angered him more. The thought that he couldn't control her, maybe?" I feel like I am talking too fast, the words just pour out in airless breaths. My hands shake, so I keep them clasped together between my knees.

The moment of truth. Once I tell her this, there's nothing else. She will know everything, everything horrible about my past that haunts me. I let out a nervous sigh, and say, "and my father used to beat me too..." She wipes at her cheek, and I realize I am making her cry. I want to stop, but the words keep coming, "Everything I did wrong, I was either beaten or locked in the closet upstairs to think about what I'd done."

"...It wasn't always with his fists. He would use his belts too," I continue, looking down at my hands, "it got worse after my mother died. He would come home from work, and he'd be pissed off. I always tried to eat early, and stay in my room. But there were times he made me sit at the table with him, so I had no choice... If I missed a chore, or if I didn't finish my homework... stupid stuff that could be easily fixed. There were nights where he beat me so severely that I couldn't sleep. There were times when he would hit me in the face, and I still went to school. I would have to lie and make up some stupid excuses so nobody would know. I figured they had to have known when it occurred more and more... I don't know why I still call him my father," I say, rubbing the palms of my hands together. When I look up, Tris is watching me with an unreadable expression.

"He was sick of me not being the obedient child he wanted, so he sent me to school up here. He assumed I would hate it and would want to go back home; he couldn't understand that I was tired of the abuse. I don't think he believes he has ever done anything wrong," I finish. I expect her to stand up—to want to get some air, or space, or away from me. But she takes my hand in hers and says nothing. Her expression is softer now.

She doesn't move, and I find myself stunned. Any other person would apologize out of awkwardness, or get up and not listen to anything more. Instead she holds my hand, and I realize confiding in her is the safest I have felt in a long time.

I relax when she squeezes my hand, and I tell her, "after what happened tonight... I scared myself, Tris. I kept asking, after I calmed down a little, if this was how my father felt when he beat me." I only ever cried after my father left me alone to feel pain, but this time I cry tears of relief.

"You're not your father, Tobias. Okay?" Tris says, her voice gentle but stern, "you're not."

"Suppose this is only the first time I lose control?" I ask, desperate, "what if... what if I hit you?"

"Don't think like that," She says immediately, "because that won't happen. You're better than that. I know you are." All I can do is stare at her in amazement. How did she sit here, and listen to every word, and not run away?

"You're not looking at me like I'm a kicked puppy, or something..." I say.

She smiles a little, and shrugs, "Well, you're not."


	7. Cruel

**CHAPTER 7 – CRUEL**  
 _Tris Prior's POV_

I sit on the counter, next to the sink and run the tap on warm. Tobias holds his hand out beneath the water, and I watch as it turns pink from the blood. I had grabbed a new rag from the bathroom, and now I'm trying to wash the red out of his skin carefully, so I don't reopen his cuts. His expression is stoic—he doesn't move, he just lets me take care of him. His face is calm, but he is more quiet than usual.

The dried blood isn't as sticky, it comes off fairly easily and a pool of pink disappears down the drain. We don't talk, he just lets me heal him—I don't think he has anything else he wants to say, and I'm not sure what I could say.

I only shut the tap off when I can see some of the pale skin of his knuckles. They're already swollen and turning purple. "You might want to change your shirt," I say; Eric's blood is still on the collar of his grey t-shirt. It looks black, but it's dried in splatters and drips. Tobias glances down at it briefly, then nods. While I grab ice for his hand, he heads over to the dresser. I've never actually taken care of somebody in distress; Caleb was always the natural at it. But I feel like I know what I'm doing—that I'm not useless in somebody's time of need.

Though I don't believe Tobias would want to call it that.

I grab a clean rag and wrap it around the ice bag, and I turn to see a shirtless Tobias, standing with his back to me. Momentarily, I forget what I am doing. He's about to put a new shirt on when I blurt, "— _wait!_ " Tobias freezes, glancing over his shoulder at me. "I'm sorry," I mutter quickly, _I could stare at him forever_.

Tobias turns to face me, a small, shy smile on his lips, "You're staring."

I smile, "Your point?" I ask.

"I don't mind it," he says, looking shy and conflicted, "but it's a little out of my comfort zone."

"I can't picture that," I say, shaking my head, "you're too... _amazing_."

"Amazing?" He asks, laughing bitterly to himself, "you say that like what just happened with Eric wasn't real."

"It doesn't make you any different... not in my eyes," I say, watching his expressions carefully. Tobias pulls the shirt over his head, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. He rests his head between his hands, flexing his fingers every couple of seconds. His skin looks weathered, almost old. For a few minutes, everything pauses. I watch Tobias, Tobias watches the floor. The lights humming is the only noise in the room.

He glances up at me, rubbing the palms of his hands together as he contemplates what to say. I wonder how loud his mind is right now.

"All I picture is growing up to be my father someday..." he finally says, "No matter how hard I try to avoid it, no matter how far I move away from him—I feel like it's inevitable, when I get angry... I am his son, after all."

"Your father is a cruel man," I say slowly, "but that doesn't mean you will be, too."

"So attacking Eric out of malice, or impatience, or whatever you'd like to call it... that's not cruel at all?"

"Just because you did something cruel one time?" I retort, "that doesn't make you that type of person."

He narrows his eyes, "I got what I wanted, and I hurt somebody in the process."

"You can argue it anyway you want to," I give him a hard look, "I'm still going to tell you it's not true. You're not a cruel person, Tobias. Eric is a cruel person—last time I checked. And you're nothing like him."

"My father and I share blood, last time I checked," Tobias sighs.

"Why are you arguing this?" I ask gently, "Why are you trying so hard to make me believe you're a bad person?" Tobias looks at his feet, but says nothing.

"I get afraid that I'll do something worse one day, and you'll realize I was right all along. And you'll take off."

"Look, I know we haven't known each other that long," I feel saddened by his admission suddenly; we share the same fear already—losing each other, "but I'm not going to leave when things go wrong. Tonight was a mistake, but you can't hold onto it, Tobias. It'll eat you alive, and you'll either go through life afraid to make mistakes, or you'll become your father like you said. I would rather see you make mistakes—and move on from them."

I see the furrow in his brow soften, he looks relieved then.

"I don't like making mistakes," he says quietly, "I like having control of things."

"You can't always have control."

"You're right," Tobias sighs.

Tobias stands up from the bed, stalking his way towards me. His fingers knead the back of my neck and his eyes rest on my lips. He kisses me then, keeping me as close as he can. It is not a desperate kiss like I expected, instead he is gentle.

His hands are too gentle, and his smile is too kind to make him a monster. I feel everything in the way he kisses me. Everything comes alive inside of me when Tobias holds me like this.

I pull back to look at him. His eyelids are heavy, and his dark eyes glisten. They are so blue, and deep, like the ocean. His lips are wet from our kiss, and his skin is flushed. "What?" He asks quietly. I rest my forehead on his, and smile.

"You _amaze_ me," I whisper, touching his lips with my fingertips. He grins against them, and I see a flash of white through my fingers.

" _You_ amaze _me_ ," Tobias says, shaking his head.

"That's unlikely," I disagree, lightly. Tobias gives me a strange look, then.

"You make me happy, Tris... really, truly happy," and I believe him.

 **xxxxx**

Later that night I stay awake, atop the quilt with Tobias sleeping soundly next to me. His body, once turned to me, now lays stretched out on his back. I watch the rise and fall of his chest; the outlines of his ribs show through his shirt with each breath. I didn't want him to put his shirt back on, but I didn't tell him that either.

It's dark in the room, but I can still see a sliver of skin peeking out just above the waistline of his sweatpants. His arm, that was snug around my waist, now lays limp across it. It touches my stomach, from where my shirt is ruffled up, and I focus on the warmth. I think about what it'd be like to have his hand on my ribs, trailing up my skin...

I think it would be terrifying, but also beautiful.

His lips are parted—he looks so young, so peaceful in sleep. I want to know what he's dreaming about, if he is. I don't want to wake him, but I reach up and brush some of his hair off his forehead. His breaths ghost across my wrist, warm and light. I turn into his side more, and when I'm comfortable enough I feel myself beginning to fall into a deep sleep.

 **xXxXx**

I meet the others just in time for breakfast. Christina and Will notice me first. They don't bombard me with questions—instead they shoot me strange looks.

"You look really happy this morning," Christina comments. I shrug, and take the seat next to Uriah. For a moment, more silence follows, and then they resume their conversation. I don't pay much attention to it, but Lynn catches my attention when she mentions how Eric was this morning.

"—It might be best if Four avoids Eric today," she says, biting the piercing in her lip, "Eric looks... _bad_ ," she laughs, and shakes her head.

"How is Four?" Uriah asks before shoveling a large portion of food into his mouth.

"He's alright," I answer with a nod, "it took a little while though..." He told me a lot. It was almost too much to listen to, but I knew I had to, for him. Uriah nods, slowly, listening.

"Zeke was kinda worried about him—said he'd never seen Four so out of it before."

"He's alright. He was in a really good mood this morning, at least." I say, and Uriah smiles a little, relieved.

"—Tris?" I look over to see Christina, expecting my answer to a question I didn't hear. I must be gawking at her. "Did you hear me?"

"Not a word," I laugh. She rolls her eyes at me, then smirks.

"I said, you're joining us for drinks tonight. Right?"

I shake my head, but say, "Of course. How could I miss that?" Christina shoots me a beaming smile.

"Not even for the world," she jokes.

 **xXxXx**

That night, I head down to the pit with Christina, Will, Uriah, Marlene, and Lynn. Tobias is working in the control room, under strict orders. Eric is here tonight. His jaw is swollen, but for the most part it looks somewhat normal. All under his chin is a deep purple color. He doesn't have any piercings back in his lip, and there's a scabbed over cut just above his eyebrow. His eye is black and blue—he actually looks scarier, tougher, than usual. His lips are pressed together in a tight line and he glares at me every time our eyes meet; I try not to glance in his direction too often.

"Eric looks lethal," Marlene says; I nod, because she's right—he looks intimidating, which worries me a little bit. I know I don't have to worry about Tobias, but I can't help but worry for myself. Eric knows how to push Tobias's limits, that much is perfectly clear. There's nothing to say he won't try something else—he could get back at him, by going after me.

"At least his face isn't drenched in blood anymore," Lynn replies. I want to tell her to stop staring at him, but I know she won't listen to me. I think she's hoping to fight him. "God, Four really did a number on his face though... You can actually focus on something other than all of the metal." I can practically feel his eyes boring into the back of my head.

"I wonder if he has any fights for tonight," Lynn says after a moment, "And where's my fight?" Marlene and I give her an incredulous look. She shrugs, "What?"

"Are you insane?" Marlene asks, "after what just happened? Eric's gonna be tougher on all of us, just because we know Four."

"Hey, don't blame him," I say quickly, "Four didn't want to fight Eric last night... last night was Eric's own fault." Lynn rolls her eyes at me, but otherwise doesn't comment. They don't know what Eric said to him—and if they do, I don't think they understand it much. I wish he would come down here, but I know he wouldn't think that was a good idea. Keeping his distance from Eric, for a while, is the best option.

"Quick to defend the boyfriend," Uriah jokes, and though I know he's just trying to lighten the mood I can't push the argument from my mind.

"Well, you know what Eric said," I say it low enough so only he hears me, and he nods. "Do they know, about his father?" I ask him. Uriah shakes his head.

"They only know that he and his father don't get along," he replies, "they don't know the worst of it all. They've never really thought to ask him on it, and you know he wouldn't bring it up. Four is a very private person..." I know he wouldn't, and I wouldn't expect him to. I never thought I'd see him cry—not that he was incapable of being human, or that he's too tough, or too closed off to show emotion—I just never thought I'd see him so raw. It makes me wonder just how much trust he has in me to let me know about it; because I trust him. He felt safe enough to tell me about his father, and I could never use that against him. _I could never be as cruel as Eric_.

I try not to think too hard about what he told me; my stomach feels sick every time I think of how that person, who is supposed to be his father—is supposed to love him, and take care of them—finds nothing wrong with beating him until he can't lie down. Tobias is just another victim of abuse... except he holds himself differently. I would have never guessed his secrets by just looking at him. To force a child to hide pain and fear behind an obedient expression, it's sickening.

My parents disciplined Caleb and I when they had to, but it was never with their hands or strips of leather. They never treated us with cruelty; but they made their points known, how important it was that we give them respect, so they could give it back to us in return. Violence was frowned upon; Caleb and I never stepped out of line, or argued with each other over ridiculous things. We never really fought. My parents never felt the need to discipline us profusely, so I can't imagine what Tobias went through, and continues to go through, living with those scars—physically, and mentally. He is always so well put together, it's almost like he has no fears at all. But I understand why it's so crucial for him to try and forget, because he wants to be free from it all. I wonder if there are times he ever truly does feel free.

"Did Four ever tell you, how he and Zeke met when they went to school here?" Uriah asks me then, his hands are shoved deep into his pockets. I shake my head. He looks like he shouldn't be telling me this, but he does anyway, "It wasn't until the next school year that they became roommates, but Four lived in a singular dorm down the hall. Zeke, too—different hallways," he explains quickly, "They were supposed to go to Four, but Zeke kept accidentally getting all of the letters from Four's father. He didn't open any of them, but he decided to drop them off... Four accused him of reading them, because he had held onto them for so long. So he and Zeke hated each other in the beginning—it wasn't until Zeke tried to fight him, that he realized Four wouldn't..." Uriah grins at the memory, "Zeke wanted me to keep score... but Four refused to fight him. When my brother asked him why, Four said ' _You should know, you had my letters._ ' So Zeke, naturally being Zeke, started throwing punches thinking that would set him off. Four was a terrible fighter at the time—he just stood there and let Zeke hit him." I feel my eyes welling with tears as I imagine Tobias, motionless, letting someone treat him that way.

"Why?" I bite the inside of my cheek.

"Four's not really much of a fighter... unless he's provoked, of course," Uriah says simply, "He won't fight for stupid reasons. When Zeke realized he wasn't fighting back, he stopped and asked Four what was wrong with him. But Four just walked away... I don't know if he still has those letters, but Zeke used to know where he kept them all at the time... about a week after that, Zeke confronted him again, but this time he wouldn't let Four leave until he knew. Zeke is intrusive... but he has a good heart, he had his reasons. It tore him up a little when he realized Four just took it, without flinching, without a sound... eventually, when they got to be better friends, my mom took Four in like one of us, and he opened up more."

"Does your mother know all of this about him?" I ask. Uriah shakes his head.

"No... she assumes both his parents are dead," he replies, "My mother has a heart of gold, she loves Four no matter what—it's where Zeke gets it from... she is very understanding, but we didn't think she needed to know that much."

"Thank you for telling me that," I say after a moment. I process all that he has told me, and wonder if I should ask Tobias all of the questions I have.

"Four is different now, you know," Uriah says, smiling to himself, "It's good to see him happy, especially after knowing all of that stuff about him."

"I can't imagine what he was like before me, then," I hint, hoping he will keep talking. I don't want to bombard Tobias with so many questions, but I will take any information I can get. Uriah peers over at the others, who still talk amongst themselves, preoccupied.

"Four wasn't really miserable—at least over the last two years. The first year we met him, I already told you most of that. He was just quiet, and kept to himself. But when he came around a little more, he was happier with us. Not as happy as he is with you—that's a strange sight. Four is complicated, very difficult to read and very private. But if you know so much about him already, I can only assume he told you that himself, and _willingly_."

"Sort of," I say, "complicated and private, yes. Difficult to read, maybe not so much anymore... I think I'm becoming accustomed to reading his mood swings."

Uriah laughs, "That's pretty good, because Zeke and I gave up ages ago. Just like Four 'gave up' on dating," he rolls his eyes.

"Obviously not," I laugh. Uriah nods once.

"I guess that's true."

"Why did he give up?" I ask, curiously, "he only told me he was best at pissing those girls off."

"He was," Uriah chuckles, shaking his head, "He was just _awful_ at talking to girls—I don't even know how he talks to you without the same result. Although, the girls Zeke picked for him were just never a good fit anyway. Let's just say, those first dates were always the last for each girl."

"Was he a jerk?"

"No," Uriah says, shrugging, "I mean, those girls would probably disagree with me. But Four was never rude to them. He just didn't know how to talk to them—sometimes he said the wrong thing, or the way he said it came out wrong."

"In the beginning, he was a bit abrasive," I say, "but he's not so bad now."

"A dull knife," Uriah chuckles, "as he would say."

"Exactly," I laugh.

"Speaking of dull knives," he grins, mischievously, "how about we finally teach you how to fight?"

 **xXxXx**

The next day, Uriah and I head to the training room to meet up with Tobias, Zeke, and Shauna. Shauna and Uriah are determined to teach me how to fight—against Tobias's protests. His arms rest around my waist, with his chin pressed against my shoulder. His body is pressed up against mine from behind me easily, like he is my perfect fit.

"You don't need to learn how to fight," he pleads with me. He buries his face into my neck and it stuns me how open he is being, with an audience—though they are paying much attention to us. He says, quietly to me, "I wouldn't let Eric pit a fight against you..."

"What if I wanted to fight? Or what if I need to know how to protect myself someday?"

"The fights Eric sets up are never fair," Tobias argues, "I wouldn't want to see you fighting with someone twice your size—,"

"—I'm not gonna kill her, sheesh," Shauna retorts, grabbing my wrists; she leads me over to the mat and positions herself, "do exactly as I do." And I try my best to. She shows me where to hold my arms; I don't want her to go easy on me, I won't learn that way. She has to reposition my arms every couple of minutes, so that I'm blocking correctly.

Eventually, Tobias's protests stop the longer he watches. Instead, he tries to help. "Make sure you protect your face," Tobias says, firmly, "and your stomach. Two of the worst places to get hit—you'll go down instantly."

I nod, but I forget to protect my stomach and Shauna's fist uppercuts me in the gut, sending me back a few feet. The air is lost from my body for a moment, as I clutch my waist. I hear Tobias's voice growl out something along the lines of "go easy with her" but I ignore his worry.

Shauna taps my arm after a few seconds, "you alright?" I nod, and straighten up. "Good. First thing's first, you gotta learn to block. Like Four said—you'll go down instantly if somebody gets the first hit to your face, or your gut." I nod, and take a deep breath. We go again; Tobias tells me what he observes, and what I need to improve on, and Shauna keeps going with me until I've made a minor improvement. She managed to get my jaw twice, and my stomach once again—my face stings, and I can imagine the bruise that's forming.

"Not bad," she says, wiping the sweat from her forehead, "you'll definitely need some more work but for the most part you won't need to break any bad habits. As far as we know." She nods at Tobias and steps away from the mat. I join him at the side and he places his hand over the tender skin. It only hurts a little, but his cool fingers sooth my aching skin.

"This is why I don't want you fighting," he says quietly, frowning, "I don't like seeing you hurt. And you won't need to be fighting anybody, anyway." It's not an order or a demand, but concern.

I place my hand over his, and say, "maybe not, but at the very least, it doesn't hurt to know how to protect myself."

"I would protect you." He smiles a little, but his eyes look sad.

"But what if you're not around?" I ask. Tobias doesn't argue, then.

"Let's get you some ice," he says. We head back to his apartment. He grabs an ice pack, gently pressing it to my jaw. The cold feels nice, numbing the throbbing. "You're going to be swollen tomorrow, hopefully no discoloration. Just keep the ice on it for now."

"I'll be fine," I promise, stretching up on my toes to kiss him. He kisses me back, and I sigh against his lips.

"Are you staying tonight?" He asks, hopeful.

"I don't think Christina could handle more of my absence," I say, watching him frown playfully. I know he understands though. His fingers replace mine, and he removes the ice pack to press his lips to the underside of my jaw. I barely feel the throb of pain as I focus on him for a moment.

"Stay," he begs quietly, keeping his voice low.

"You make it hard to say no," I tell him, giving in. He kisses me slowly, bringing his mouth back up to mine, and I can't suppress my content.

When we break apart, I inspect his face for any discoloration from his fight with Eric. His bottom lip is a bit swollen, and there is a split from where Eric caught him. Other than that, it doesn't look like Eric got too many punches in before he went down.

"What is it?" Tobias asks me. I've been staring too long. I bring my fingers up to his mouth, and brush over the cut. His face twitches—it must hurt a little, but he doesn't show much else of a reaction.

"No bruises," I tell him. The corners of his mouth lift up.

"Because I know how to fight," he says without thinking. I give him a look. "What?"

"So you know how to fight and defend yourself, but you don't want me to?" I ask. Tobias groans, looking perplexed for a moment.

"I admit it's not a horrible idea... okay?" He concedes, "but I just don't like the idea of you getting hurt."

"I'll be less hurt learning how to fight than being defenseless in one," I retort.

"I know," he sighs, "You practiced well today... I'm not going to tell you no, there's no point. You want to learn, and Shauna and Uriah want to teach you." I smile, and kiss him briefly.

"Does this mean I win?" He rolls his eyes.

"No," Tobias shakes his head, smirking, "this wasn't an argument."

"But we had different viewpoints."

"Okay, _smartass_ ," he teases. Slipping his hands over my neck, he presses his thumbs under my chin and tilts my head up so his forehead is against mine. "You win."

"I like when you give in," I joke, wrapping my arms around his waist. Tobias just shakes his head at me in response.

 **xXxXx**

Tonight, Tobias is free from the control room. Eric is nowhere to be seen. I leave the training room with Shauna right behind, and we join the others. "What took you guys so long?" Lynn asks, handing Shauna a cup. Christina hands me mine.

"Training," I say. My body is feeling everything worse today. Every muscle pulls and aches, new bruises have formed along my stomach, and my arms from blocking. Shauna looks fine, not a bruise or scratch on her.

"She's kicking your ass," Lynn comments. I sigh.

"Tell me about it," I say, "Shauna has beaten me every time."

"You'll learn it," Shauna reassures me, smiling, "don't sweat it too much." Just as she says this, I feel a tap on my shoulder, and turn to see Tobias. He looks tired today—I wonder, briefly, if something is wrong.

"Hey," he smiles, brushing his thumb along my jaw. I no longer wince at the pain, and he looks relieved when I smile back.

"By the way, I'd like my roommate back, Four," Christina says, smirking, "the dorm is entirely too quiet."

"How is that even possible, knowing you," Lynn retorts.

Christina rolls her eyes, "Unless they're doing push-ups on his bed, I want my roommate back—,"

"—Christina!" I hiss, throwing a punch at her arm. Tobias laughs, coughing into his arm. He looks embarrassed, his face almost a bright shade of red. _I could kill her for that comment_.

"You hit like a girl," she says, rubbing her shoulder, "sheesh, you two act like sex is forbidden, or something."

"Not forbidden," Tobias says, grinning shyly. He clears his throat, "Just... _special_." I blush harder—I wonder what has just made Tobias admit his inexperience.

Christina looks at me, lowering her voice, she asks, "seriously?"

"Not here," I mouth back.

"You guys have talked about it, at least a little bit, right?" She asks me. I shrug, feeling afraid to raise my voice any higher than a whisper.

"Kind of," I bite my lip, "We said we should wait for now..."

"Well, Will and I were together two years before we finally did it," Christina says, shrugging. Then her eyes get wide, and expression becomes one of genuine curiosity, "Do you know how sex works?"

"I know the basics," I say, blushing furiously. I hear Tobias clear his throat, and he shoots Christina a cautious glare.

"I think that's enough for now," Tobias cuts in.

"Later," she mouths to me, ignoring his glare. I roll my eyes, but nod once. Tobias pulls me into his chest, his lips at my forehead. For a few seconds, he holds me without saying a word. I wonder if he's mad at what Christina asked.

"Do you tell her a lot about us?" He asks finally, his voice light, and maybe even a little teasing. I relax and laugh a little.

"Not enough," I say, shaking my head, "I guess that's why she's—,"

"—Nosy?"

" _Persistent_ ," I interject. "Just regular girl talk for her," _and Marlene, and Lynn, and probably Shauna, too_ , I think to myself. Tobias shrugs, his shoulders are stiff with the movement. He seems on edge—it couldn't possibly be just from what Christina said.

Eric is on the platform, calling attention; it is the first time I have seen him tonight. He is announcing tonight's fight—he calls Lynn to the middle, and she looks almost too eager to be fighting. Tonight she'll be fighting Molly, and though it is not Peter, Lynn takes the challenge.

"Come with me," Tobias says after a few minutes.

"Where are we going?" I ask as he leads me away from the crowd, and we sneak through the back hallways; away from all the noise. I'm curious about what he has in mind when one of his hands rest on the wall beside my head, and the other gently pushes me back against the cool stone.

"You look beautiful," he says, staring down at me. His face is so close, his nose just barely touches mine. I feel my heart beat, strong and fast.

"You don't look too bad, yourself," I tease, never looking away. Tobias's eyes linger down my face for a few seconds, before he kisses me hungrily. His hands smooth down my arms until they reach mine, and he closes the gap between our palms. He brings my hands up then, around his neck and his fingers tighten on my hips—he lifts me up easily, however, the wall bears most of my weight.

My body feels weak; his body feels strong beneath me. Faintly, his mouth tastes like mint. He feels good, pressed up against my body like this. _Too good_. When he pulls back, he lowers me to the ground again and rests his forehead against mine.

"It's getting harder to be wise around you, Tris." My skin is on fire and I want him that way too, but that also scares me. "I thought about what Christina had said..."

"She has no filter," I say sheepishly. Tobias nods.

"I know," he says, "but that's not what I meant."

"What _did_ you mean?"

"I meant, I think it's something to talk about," Tobias explains, rubbing the back of his neck as he speaks, "Obviously, I know you're not ready for _that_... _we're_ not ready," he adds quickly, "but it doesn't hurt to talk about it—what your limits are, what you're comfortable with..." His face is bright red again as he stands in front of me, stuttering over his words. He looks very flushed, all of a sudden. I find it a little endearing.

I bite the inside of my cheek, "is this something you want to talk about now?"

"Not now," he says, taking my hands in his, "if you don't want to. But I want this to work with you, and I'm willing to do anything it takes, Tris." His eyes are so blue, so clear, and they seek my answer. His declaration is so honest, my smile is almost involuntary.

Sometime later we continue our walk around the quietest parts of the compound, hand in hand. Tobias tells me about what it's like to work with Zeke in the control room, while I tell him about training with Shauna. I have yet to train with Uriah—I imagine it's because he is much stronger than me, or Shauna, and they feel I'm not ready to take him on.

"You took me away from a good fight, you know," I joke.

Tobias laughs, "I've seen Lynn fight plenty of times—trust me, she jumps at any opportunity. You'll see her up there again," he replies.

"Remind me never to take her on," I say.

"I wouldn't even try." He shakes his head, "Lynn fights mean."

The sound of our footsteps echoes off the walls, as we walk towards the chasm. The hallway is long, breaking into two separate directions at the end. Tobias seems to walk absentmindedly, like he has this place memorized perfectly. He probably does.

I peer over at him for a moment; his expression is calm, like he's thinking of something. We pass the hallway leading to the chasm, and I ask again, "Where are we going?" He leads me to a stairwell.

"Well," Tobias starts, "we haven't been on a proper date." _A date? Right now?_

"Hmm yes, beating somebody up and then being shut away to a control room can limit a person's dating availability," I reply. He laughs, and pulls me closer to his side. At least his mood seems to be better since the fight with Eric.

" _Ha, ha_ ," Tobias retorts sarcastically, placing his hands on my shoulders, and squeezing playfully, "tell me then, where do you think we're going?" I look around us, as we walk down another barely lit corridor. At the far end, the faint blue-white glow looks haunting, _and familiar_.

"Uh..."

"Think about it," Tobias says quietly. And I do―the first time we met, _Eric was cornering me in a back hallway_. And my first night here— _I jumped down the net_. Christina showed me the way in from there, and it was this hallway.

"Are we going up to the net?" I ask. I wonder, why the net? Tobias's grin answers my first question though, and he reaches into his pocket, retrieving a silver flask. I eye it, for a few seconds, and shake my head with a smirk.

"You don't have to drink if you don't want to," he says.

"But you want to," I reply. He shrugs.

"A little. Not a lot. And I don't mind sharing, but only if you want to," he says, shaking the contents inside. It sounds full. _What was he drinking earlier_ , I wonder. "Zeke won't even notice I stole this," Tobias smirks. He offers me the flask, and I take it, putting the neck up to my lips. It smells sweet; I take the first sip and it bubbles in my mouth. It's not a particularly hard drink to swallow, but it's a little rough. It tastes like apple.

"What is this?" I ask.

"Champagne," he answers, "Zeke has a bunch of different drinks stocked up. Though this has a low percentage—and he barely drinks this stuff, he kept it for his dates."

"So we're drinking wine tonight? Hmm, not a bad start," I joke.

"Well you know, I thought maybe I could show off my knowledge of the compound―,"

"―I think you've established that," I smirk.

"―Exactly, and after that I thought we could have some time alone," he teases, suggestively; but he doesn't touch me. "It's no movie, or dinner... but it's—,"

"— _Sweet_ ," I finish, reaching up to touch his face. He smiles into my palm and places a kiss on my fingers. We get up the stairs, and the only source of light comes from the hole above us. Tobias lifts me up and I roll into the middle of the net. He hoists himself up next, and I watch the tendons in his hands jump and relax with each grip. The net dips down more with his weight, until he's sitting in front of me. "Why did you pick the net?" I ask him.

"It was the first time I saw you," Tobias says, "After you jumped, but before I stopped Eric from cornering you."

"So you knew me before you and I officially met?" I ask. Tobias shrugs.

"I didn't really _know you_ , know you... but I remembered seeing you from that first night."

"You never told me that," I say, blushing then. He pays more attention than I realize, he knew me before I even had a face to his name. But he had the opposite—a face with no name.

"So I was thinking we play a game," he says, then.

"Like twenty questions, or something more sophisticated?" I ask, biting my lip. I can't imagine this net would allow us to play any other type of game. _Unless he really did have something else in mind_ —

"What's _'a more sophisticated game'_?" He asks, amused. I shrug, letting out a small laugh.

"I don't know... guess what color underwear I'm wearing?" I joke, rolling my eyes.

"That is not sophisticated," Tobias smirks, then he gets a stern look on his face, and says, "blue."

"I wasn't actually being serious," I say, feeling my face heat up. Tobias laughs.

"Well, I'm intrigued now," he says.

"Well, you're wrong," I retort, shaking my head. He plays with my fingers, twisting them around his for a moment.

"White."

"Tobias―" I warn.

"―black."

"I'm not telling you!" I say, embarrassed. I flatten my hands on my thighs, my palms feeling sweaty now. Tobias leans forward, kissing my forehead.

"Then show me," he whispers, and I know he's joking, but I punch his arm. He leans back into the net, laughing almost maniacally, "I'm only joking, Tris."

I try to look angry, though I can't help but laugh with him after a moment. "You're a jerk."

"Well I'm not the nicest," he agrees, lifting my chin up. His eyes, even in the dark, are a charming lapis blue. His voice is soft, he asks, "do you still like me?"

I sigh, smiling, "of course I do." Tobias presses a kiss to my nose, and then to my lips. "Not bad for a first date. Those other girls would be jealous you actually got it right this time," I say against his mouth. Tobias smiles, and bites down gently on my bottom lip.

"It's the best one I've been on," he whispers, gliding his nose along my jaw. His fingers lightly squeeze my hips, and I grin, before pressing a kiss to his temple. I feel his smirk against my skin, and he asks, "What color haven't I guessed yet?"

It takes me a moment to realize what he's asking, and then I roll my eyes. "I'll tell you you're wrong anyway, so just shut up and kiss me."

 **xXxXx**

I train with Shauna again the next night, coming out with only a few scrapes, scratches, and bruises. I took her elbow to my jaw earlier in the week, though it's almost done healing. It doesn't look as bad as it was, at least. And Christina will be happy to not mix colors to match my skin tone.

I drop down onto my bed, bouncing with the mattress and let out a pained moan. Christina laughs, patting my back, "tough session?"

"Shauna kicked my butt again," I sigh, "and my muscles are screaming." My stomach feels tight, from the constant tension I keep and the numerous hits to my gut. There's a constant throbbing just beneath my ribcage, sharp and unrelenting.

"Want some ice?" She asks.

"Please," I whimper. Christina stands up from the bed.

"How are you doing, so far?"

"Shauna says I'm improving..."

"Well that's good," Christina says, smiling, "maybe you'll be strong enough to take Peter on." I laugh, shaking my head.

"I doubt it. My one-ten to his one-seventy, give or take, would prove fatal." I drop my head down onto my pillow, willing my forming headache to go away. My arms are too tired to lift and try to relieve the pain myself. "I would only refuel his ego."

"Aw come on, you're small enough," she replies, "I mean, Lynn took down Molly. Peter is probably half her size. You could do it."

"Well Peter is a boy, and Lynn fights dirty that's why she won," I say.

"Take lessons from her then."

"Uh, definitely not!" I prop myself up to look at her, "I don't plan on swallowing my teeth anytime soon."

"She didn't knock Molly's teeth out."

"She chipped a few," I retort. Christina rolls her eyes at me, and sits down on her bed.

" _Chipped_...whatever, she didn't lose any." I shake my head, and lie back down. My mattress feels too hard, and it doesn't smell like Tobias. There is no indentation that matches his body, or sunlight streaming in over the bed. I sigh, and try to get comfortable.

Christina looks at me, with a strange expression, "don't look so happy," she says, sarcastically. I give her a look, and she smirks. "I think you can last a night without sleeping in Four's bed."

"Easy for you to say," I mumble; there is no heavy, sweet, musky smell that fills my nose and I find myself highly disappointed. I don't even have his sweater anymore.

"Is he working late?" She asks. I nod, and stretch out on my stomach, determined to fall asleep. Christina shakes her head at me, "I'll come back with ice."

I begin to doze off by the time Christina returns, but I am awake when the ice has melted and the bitter cold seeps into my clothes. The light is off, and I hear her quiet snores from across the room. The only light in the room is from the courtyard; a wonder if Tobias is even awake right now.

The clock reads after two in the morning—he must be asleep.

I glance over at Christina one more time, after my eyes have adjusted to the dark, and then turn on my side away from her; careful not to disturb my sore muscles. It doesn't take me long to fall back asleep.

 **xXxXx**

 _Tobias Eaton's POV_

I let Tris take care of my wounds.

I'm glad she's not talking right now, because I wouldn't know what to say. But that also scares me— _what if she's angry with me?_

The blood that is now dried onto my skin comes off fairly easy, and I watch as it turns the water pink. She only turns the sink off when my hands are completely clean. My knuckles are already purple, swelling up to almost twice their actual size.

"You might want to change your shirt," she says quietly. I look down, and I see Eric's blood is still on the collar. It almost looks black now. If he had hit me harder, I would have thought it was mine. I change out of my shirt, while she grabs ice from the freezer.

I have my arms through the sleeves when she cries, "— _wait!_ " I freeze, and look back at her, confused. "I'm sorry," She says quickly, twisting the rag in her hands.

"You're staring," I say it almost like a question.

"Your point?" She bites her lip.

"I don't mind it," I explain, "but it's a little out of my comfort zone." I try not to change in front of anyone, if it can be avoided. And typically, it can be. But I did it without thinking this time, almost robotically.

"I can't picture that. You're too... _amazing_."

"Amazing?" After what just happened, I wonder why that is her first word to describe me. I laugh, a little too bitterly, "you say that like what just happened with Eric wasn't real."

"It doesn't make you any different... not in my eyes," She starts. I pull the shirt over my head quickly, before I sit down on the edge of my bed. Absentmindedly, I flex my fingers out, ignoring the pain. I am utterly stunned, I almost feel paralyzed as everything comes back to me all at once. She wasn't there to see me hit Eric—she must not fully understand how bad I got.

"All I picture is growing up to be my father someday..." I mutter, a little to myself but I speak to her, "No matter how hard I try to avoid it, no matter how far I move away from him—I feel like it's inevitable, when I get angry... I am his son, after all." _Tobias Eaton, son of Marcus Eaton_... no matter where I go, it won't change who my father is.

"Your father is a cruel man," she says carefully, "but that doesn't mean you will be, too."

"So attacking Eric out of malice, or _impatience_ , or whatever you'd like to call it... that's not cruel at all?" I almost laugh.

"Just because you did something cruel one time?" Tris asks, her voice stern, "that doesn't make you that type of person."

I feel anger swell in my chest; how can she defend me like I did nothing wrong? Like I didn't just cause Eric pain, and harm, just to shut him up. "I got what I wanted, and I hurt somebody in the process."

"You can argue it anyway you want to," She shakes her head, "I'm still going to tell you it's not true. You're not a cruel person, Tobias. Eric is a cruel person—last time I checked. And you're nothing like him."

"My father and I share blood, last time I checked," I sigh, loud and tired.

"Why are you arguing this?" She asks, upset, "Why are you trying so hard to make me believe you're a bad person?" _Because I am._ How could I ever keep from becoming my father with the same fuse he has?

"I get afraid that I'll do something worse one day, and you'll realize I was right all along. And you'll take off."

"Look, I know we haven't known each other that long, but I'm not going to leave when things go wrong. Tonight was a mistake, but you can't hold onto it, Tobias. It'll eat you alive, and you'll either go through life afraid to make mistakes, or you'll become your father like you said. I would rather see you make mistakes—and move on from them."

She has a point. I feel my muscles relax a little. How does she know what to say when I need her words the most?

"I don't like making mistakes," I admit, "I like having control of things."

"You can't always have control."

"You're right," I say. And she is. I can admit when she is right—she usually is. I stand up and cross the space to her. Her eyes are so striking, so full of fire. I kiss her, but not in the desperate way I thought I would—like I would lose her if I didn't hold her close. I kiss her softly.

She pulls away first, and at first I am afraid kissing her was the wrong thing to do in that moment. But she is watching me with an intensity I have never seen from anybody else. "What?" I ask, innocently. I don't deserve her kindness... I don't deserve _her_.

Tris smiles, "You amaze me." That word again. I am almost disappointed by it, but I can't be when she looks at me like that. Instead, I actually smile.

"You amaze _me_ ," I tell her, shaking my head.

"That's unlikely," she disagrees, and I am confused by her all over again. How she thinks she couldn't be good enough—she _is_ good enough, and then some. She is a better person than me, period.

"You make me happy, Tris... really, truly happy."

 **xXxXx**

I am half-asleep at the controls, with my head resting on my hand. My knuckles dig into my cheekbone, most likely leaving a large red mark imprinted there. I try to rub the sleep from my eyes, but it's fruitless because they droop only seconds later.

Under strict orders, namely because Eric's ego is wounded, I have to stay behind controls until all this blows over. Normally, I wouldn't care that I was stuck up in here but I want to see Tris, and just watching her from glimpses on the screen is not enough.

Basically, Tori has made us avoid each other like the plague today—and I suspect this is how it's going to be until everybody forgets that I beat his face in. I should feel triumphant, victorious, but instead I feel a lot like a pathetic boy in a man's skin.

And Zeke has been watching me like I am about to combust any minute now. It's irritating, but I guess if anybody were to watch over me at least it's Zeke. I still haven't seen the damage I caused to Eric's face—I don't really want to. It wouldn't make me feel any better if I did.

I isolate the Pit's footage from the computers; I don't let Zeke know I am doing this, though. I know he will tell me not to worry about her. But I have only isolated it because Zeke started skimming through all of the cameras, and I want to watch out for Tris and the others since I have nothing better to do.

Tris keeps glancing behind her, which I can't understand why but when I zoom out I get the hint it's because Eric is watching her. Thankfully he doesn't seem like he'll try anything tonight; part of me wonders if he's afraid of what I'll do if he hurts her.

I think about luring Tris away from the others, so I can spend time with her tonight but I don't know where Tori is and if she catches me out by the main area I might end up making this arrangement last longer. Still, I could get Zeke to get her—or Uriah.

"That's the tenth time you've sighed," Zeke mutters from his spot in front of the computer. I glare down at the keys for a moment, and chew the inside of my cheek.

"I just don't want to be stuck up in here," I answer. Zeke shrugs.

"It's not that bad up here," he says, "besides you got me." I smirk, but it doesn't kill the boredom. I glance up at the clock, and see that it's only past nine—five more hours, at most. Unless Zeke can handle the rest at midnight.

I think about how I could sneak out of here, and get Tris alone. I already miss her presence, and after all of the stuff that happened yesterday, somehow she isn't afraid of me.

"Did Tori mention anything to you today?" Zeke asks. I shrug.

"She called me and Eric two brooding idiots who need to just stay away from each other for a little while—but then told me she's glad I found my opportunity to put him in his place."

"Tori can't scold you for shit," Zeke grumbles, shaking his head. Tori has no problem telling any of us off—especially Zeke and Uriah when they pull dumb stunts. But Tori has always had a soft side for me, primarily because she understood me at my worst.

"Well, she's also had enough of Eric's attitude," I say, "as have I."

"I think that ship sailed a long time ago," Zeke agrees, "Some of us just put up with him because we have to."

"Good thing I'm not one of those people," I say, looking down at my bruised knuckles. Though I still feel sick at the thought of getting pleasure out of finally hurting him. Like my worst fears slipped through the cracks of my mind, and took over when I was at my breaking point.

"How did Tris handle it?" Zeke asks me.

"Better than I thought she would," I sigh, "She made me feel better... like it wasn't something I should feel so overwhelmed by."

"You shouldn't," he says, laughing, "Eric is a dick."

"I just don't understand why," I start.

"You don't understand, what? Why Eric is a dick?"

"No, I mean, I don't understand why she took it so well..." I say, shaking my head. Zeke gives me a confused look. I explain, "I told her about my father last night. I told her everything about him—and she didn't look at me any different. She didn't see me as the product of his anger, she saw me as _... normal_."

"That's good, though," Zeke says, "it obviously means she sees something about you that you don't see yourself."

"There's not much to see," I say with a shrug.

"Trust me, she sees something." A big part of me wants to believe he is right.

 **xXxXx**

The next day, I find out that Uriah has talked Tris into learning how to fight. I can't say that I'm ecstatic about the idea—I don't want Tris fighting, because I just don't want to see her get hurt. I told her against me, protesting her ear off.

"You don't need to learn how to fight," I practically beg. Burying my face into her neck, I tell her, "I wouldn't let Eric pit a fight against you..."

"What if I wanted to fight? Or what if I need to know how to protect myself someday?" She argues, twisting around to face me. I frown.

"The fights Eric sets up are never fair," I plead, "I wouldn't want to see you fighting with someone twice your size—,"

"—I'm not gonna kill her, sheesh," Shauna retorts, pulling Tris away from me. She positions Tris in front of her, and says, "do exactly as I do." I know she is determined to learn the hard way. Shauna has to reposition her arms every couple of minutes, so that she blocks herself correctly.

Eventually, I try to offer advice and help her out when I notice she is getting frustrated. "Make sure you protect your face," I tell her, "and your stomach. Two of the worst places to get hit—you'll go down instantly." I know she is listening, absorbing everything, especially because I am the one telling her what to do now.

But she forgets to protect her stomach and the first uppercut Shauna sends her way causes her to stumble back a few feet. She stands, winded, and I almost tell Shauna that's enough. Instead, I opt for, "Go easy on her." I know she wouldn't want me to step in and stop it—I also know she doesn't like me telling Shauna to go easier on her, but she has to start somewhere.

"You alright?" Shauna asks her. Tris nods after a moment, and I release the breath I didn't know I was holding in, "Good. First thing's first, you gotta learn to block. Like Four said—you'll go down instantly if somebody gets the first hit to your face, or your gut." Shauna keeps going with her until she's made more progress. I tell her what I've noticed and what she could do better on. I can already see the bruise on her jaw forming—I feel uneasy looking at her, knowing that she will be marked up.

"Not bad," Shauna tells Tris, wiping the sweat from her forehead, "you'll definitely need some more work but for the most part you won't need to break any bad habits. As far as we know." She nods at me and steps away from the mat. I walk towards Tris, running my fingers over her skin when I am standing in front of her.

"This is why I don't want you fighting," I say softly, "I don't like seeing you hurt. And you won't need to be fighting anybody, anyway."

She places her hand on top of mine, and smiles, "maybe not, but at the very least, it doesn't hurt to know how to protect myself."

"I would protect you." If she's worried about protection, I would never let anything bad happen to her.

"But what if you're not around?" Tris asks. I guess that's something I didn't really consider... what if I can't be around? She does have a point... _right again_ , I think to myself.

"Let's get you some ice," I say instead. We head back to my apartment and the first thing I grab is ice from the freezer. Her face softens when the cold numbs her pain. "You're going to be swollen tomorrow, hopefully no discoloration. Just keep the ice on it for now."

"I'll be fine," She says, leaning up on her toes to kiss me. Her promise reassures me, but I still don't like that she is hurt already.

"Are you staying tonight?" I ask.

"I don't think Christina could handle more of my absence," she says, and I frown. At this point, it's getting harder to stay away from her in other ways. I don't really care if Christina misses her—I miss her in ways I haven't had her yet. I pull the ice away from her skin and kiss along her jaw. Her skin is cool, and it sends electricity through me when she sighs.

"Stay," I beg, kissing her neck.

"You make it hard to say no," Tris concedes, her fingers grip my arms so tight. I press kisses back up to her lips, but I have to pull back when I feel everything rush all at once. She inspects my face, almost staring right through me, lost in thought.

"What is it?" I ask her. She reaches up, brushing her fingers across my lips. It tickles, but then she runs across the split, and I feel a sharp pinch from pressure on the scab.

"No bruises," Tris says. I smirk.

"Because I know how to fight," I say, absentmindedly. She gives me a hard glare. "What?"

"So you know how to fight and defend yourself, but you don't want me to?" She retorts. _Shit_... I should have thought my words through first. I groan.

"I admit it's not a horrible idea... okay?" I say, "but I just don't like the idea of you getting hurt."

"I'll be less hurt learning how to fight than being defenseless in one," Tris states matter-of-factly. _Such a smartass_... I shake my head.

"I know. You practiced well today... I'm not going to tell you no, there's no point. You want to learn, and Shauna and Uriah want to teach you." She smiles like a kid on Christmas, and gives me a quick kiss.

"Does this mean I win?" She asks. I roll my eyes playfully.

"No," I smirk, "this wasn't an argument."

"But we had different viewpoints."

"Okay, _smartass_ ," I retort, leaning down to rest my forehead against hers. Her skin is warm, and her skin is smooth, "You win."

"I like when you give in," _If only you knew how easy it was for me_... a little _too_ easy. It's much harder to not give in when it comes to her—Zeke would say I'm whipped, and I wouldn't disagree. I can only shake my head.

 **xXxXx**

Zeke dozed off during his break, so I grabbed his apartment key and when it was time for mine I made my way to the apartments. He has quite a stash of alcohol—I have never had to buy any, and I know Zeke wouldn't care what I took some anyway.

I don't want to grab something too hard; I want to enjoy my time with Tris tonight, not forget it. I don't need to be drunk around her. I find and finish off a bottle of champagne he keeps in the back of the cabinet; and once I twist the cap back onto my flask, I stow it away in my pocket, and head back to the security room.

I have been thinking of ways to make a first date with Tris—I realized that we have not had a proper one since I met her. At the very least, I owe her that much. I don't think she knows the first time I saw her was when she jumped, I don't remember ever telling her about that.

When I return to the security room, Zeke is sitting at his computer. He is awake, though just barely. "Where did you go?" He asks me.

I lie, "I just went for a walk, to stretch my legs out." He shrugs, but otherwise doesn't comment. I imagine he must not really care. "Oh by the way," I hand his keys to him, "You must have dropped these."

"Thanks, man," Zeke grins, "I hadn't even noticed."

 **xxxxx**

Zeke and I catch up with Uriah and Marlene some time later. Zeke and Uriah turn into true brothers then, bickering and joking back and forth on our way to the Pit. Tori gave me the okay to join Tris and her friends tonight—Eric isn't supposed to be around for most of the night.

I see Tris's blond head immediately, and I make my way to her. She and Shauna must be talking about her training, because I hear Shauna tell her, "You'll learn it. Don't sweat it too much."

I tap her shoulder, and Tris smiles as soon as she realizes it's me. I am unsure of how I will get her away from everyone for this to work—I could be blunt about it, and just tell them I want some time with her, but I can already hear their jokes.

"Hey," I smile back, pleased when I touch her face and she no longer flinches because of her bruises. Christina clears her throat beside us, and we turn to face her.

"By the way, I'd like my roommate back, Four," Christina smirks, "the dorm is entirely too quiet."

"How is that even possible, knowing you," Lynn cuts in.

Christina rolls her eyes, "Unless they're doing push-ups on his bed, I want my roommate back—,"

"— _Christina!_ " Tris snaps, throwing a punch at Christina's arm. I laugh, but I don't mean to. I try to make it sound like a cough, but I know it's too late. Tris gives me a harsh look.

"You hit like a girl," Christina taunts, "sheesh, you two act like sex is forbidden, or something."

"Not forbidden," I clear my throat, "Just... _special_." I see her blush cover her entire face, and I know it is all new for Tris, too. I won't let her take the heat alone.

"Seriously?" Christina whispers to Tris.

"Not here," She pleads.

"You guys have talked about it, at least a little bit, right?" Christina is too much of a blabbermouth sometimes—Tris looks uncomfortable at her line of questioning.

"Kind of," Tris says, "We said we should wait for now..."

"Well, Will and I were together two years before we finally did it," Christina shrugs as if the topic of her sex life is common knowledge. Maybe it is, but I know Tris is not like that. "Do you know how sex works?"

"I know the basics," Tris replies, biting her lip. I decide to stop this before it gets too personal, and I give Christina a hard stare.

"I think that's enough for now," I say.

"Later," Christina mouths to her. Tris rolls her eyes, but she must think I'm not looking because she nods. I pull Tris into my arms and just hold her there for a moment. I should be mad about what just happened, but I know Christina means well, and she is a good friend to Tris.

"Do you tell her a lot about us?" I ask, keeping my voice light.

"Not enough," Tris laughs nervously, "I guess that's why she's—,"

"—Nosy?"

" _Persistent_ ," She corrects me. "Just regular girl talk for her," I shrug, but I find it hard to believe she's just persistent. Nosy is definitely a perfect word to describe Christina's personality.

Our moment is cut short when I hear Eric's voice shout through the Pit, and suddenly I want to find Tori and ask what changed... I decide now is our best chance to leave, "Come with me," I tell her.

"Where are we going?" She asks me as I lead us away from the crowd, and we sneak through the hallways. While we are still in some light, I stop walking and then we are pressed up against the wall together, and I smile down at her.

"You look beautiful," I say, admiring how other worldly she looks in this lighting. I am close enough to kiss her nose, but I brush the back of my fingers beneath her jaw and just stare at her for a moment.

"You don't look too bad, yourself," She teases, and I can't hold back any longer. I kiss her hard, and lace my fingers with hers. I guide her hands to my neck, enjoying the currents running from her touch to my skin. My hands stabilize her once she is holding me, and I lift her up against the wall. She feels so good, the friction is almost too much to take.

There is so much standing between me and this need for her. We could always see where it leads, but I know she is not ready for that—and I don't think I am, if I'm being honest with myself. She works me up so much. "It's getting harder to be wise around you, Tris." My skin burns where her touch leaves, "I thought about what Christina had said..."

"She has no filter," Tris explains, biting her lip. I nod, _you think_...

"I know," I say instead, "but that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"I meant, I think it's something to talk about. Obviously, I know you're not ready for that... _we're_ not ready," I stutter my words, "but it doesn't hurt to talk about it—what your limits are, what you're comfortable with..." I don't know why I get so overwhelmed by her, but I can barely talk to her the way I need to right now.

"Is this something you want to talk about now?"

"Not now," I reply, "if you don't want to. But I want this to work with you, and I'm willing to do anything it takes, Tris." She smiles in response, and the weight on my shoulders lifts up immediately.

Sometime later we continue our walk around the most quiet parts of the compound, hand in hand. She asks me about work, while I ask her how her training is coming along. "You took me away from a good fight, you know," Tris teases.

"I've seen Lynn fight plenty of times—trust me, she jumps at any opportunity. You'll see her up there again," I laugh, shaking my head.

"Remind me never to take her on," She says.

"I wouldn't even try." I tell her, "Lynn fights mean." The closer we get to the chasm, the louder our footsteps echo off the stone walls. I don't have to think about where we are going—I know my way around easily.

"Where are we going?" Tris asks, and I know she recognizes some of where we are.

"Well," I start, bringing her hand up to my lips, "we haven't been on a proper date."

Tris smirks, "Hmm yes, beating somebody up and then being shut away to a control room can limit a person's dating availability." I laugh at her sarcasm, and pull her closer to me.

"Ha, ha," I retort then, stopping her in front of me. I place my hands on her shoulders, and squeeze lightly, "tell me then, where do you think we're going?"

"Uh..."

"Think about it," I tell her.

"Are we going up to the net?" She asks almost immediately. I grin, and reach into my pocket, retrieving the flask I filled earlier. Tris stares at it for a moment, then shakes her head.

"You don't have to drink if you don't want to," I say.

"But you want to," She says. I shrug, _I don't really care_... I just want time with her, alone.

"A little. Not a lot. And I don't mind sharing, but only if you want to. Zeke won't even notice I stole this," I say, grinning. She takes it from my hands and lifts it to her lips, taking a sip. She looks confused for a moment, then she smiles.

"What is this?"

"Champagne," I say, "Zeke has a bunch of different drinks stocked up. Though this has a low percentage—and he barely drinks this stuff, he kept it for his dates."

"So we're drinking wine tonight? Hmm, not a bad start," I hear the humor in her voice.

"Well you know, I thought maybe I could show off my knowledge of the compound―,"

"―I think you've established that," Tris says, rolling her eyes playfully.

"―Exactly, and after that I thought we could have some time alone," _But that alone time would be somewhere more reserved_... "It's no movie, or dinner... but it's—,"

"—Sweet," She finishes my sentence, tracing her fingers across my lips. I smile and kiss her fingers. We get up the stairs and to the net. I have to help her up, and then I pull myself up after her. "Why did you pick the net?" She asks.

"It was the first time I saw you," I admit, "After you jumped, but before I stopped Eric from cornering you."

"So you knew me before you and I officially met?" Tris asks, shocked. I shrug.

"I didn't really _know you_ , know you... but I remembered seeing you from that first night."

"You never told me that," She blushes, pressing her palms to her cheeks.

"So I was thinking we play a game," I say, watching her for a moment. Her hair looks silver in the light that pools around us from above. Her blue eyes look even more stunning now.

"Like twenty questions, or something more sophisticated?" She asks. I laugh.

"What's _'a more sophisticated game'_?"

"I don't know... guess what color underwear I'm wearing?" Tris must say this without thinking, because as soon as she realizes what she's said, she blushes harder and then hides her face.

"That is not sophisticated," I smirk. But as I decide to play along, I fake a firm expression and say, "blue."

"I wasn't actually being serious!" She cries.

"Well, I'm intrigued now," I tease, enjoying the way she tries to hide from me.

"Well, you're wrong," Tris retorts, shaking her hands out. I grab one of them and play with her fingers, trying to calm her down before I call out the next color.

"White."

" _Tobias_ ―" She warns. _Oh well_...

"―black." _What have I got to lose?_

"I'm not telling you!" Tris says, embarrassed. I laugh harder, and then lean forward to kiss her forehead. This is fun, but seeing the way she reacts to me is even better.

"Then show me," I whisper playfully. She punches my arm, and I fall back into another fit of laughter. "I'm only joking, Tris." She tries to look angry, but fails.

"You're a jerk."

"Well I'm not the nicest," I say, matter-of-factly. I lift her chin with and brush my nose along hers softly, "Do you still like me?"

Tris sighs, "Of course I do." I kiss her nose, and then her lips, "Not bad for a first date. Those other girls would be jealous you actually got it right this time." _That they would be_.

"It's the best one I've been on," I admit, just enjoying the way she feels beneath my touch. I can't help myself one last time, however. I ask, "What color haven't I guessed yet?"

Tris can only shake her head at me, before saying, "I'll tell you you're wrong anyway, so just shut up and kiss me." And I do, for a long time, just happy to have her selfishly all to myself again.


	8. Promise

**CHAPTER 8 – PROMISE**

 _Tris Prior's POV_

"I just want my friend back from time to time," Christina says as we walk down to breakfast the next morning. She lowers her voice a little as a teacher walks by, "The only reason I don't stay with Will every night is because of the school rules. They've got like a sixth sense with that—it's like they just know when you do that stuff."

"Yet, she still doesn't know about your night in the deserted classroom?" I ask. Christina shrugs.

"Well, not much I can do if she knows—I don't think it would bother me." I give her an incredulous look. "What? It wouldn't."

"You wouldn't be embarrassed if somebody knew you...did _that?_ " She laughs slightly, shaking her head.

"Guess not." She yawns, "it's only natural—I mean, we're not the only teenagers who have ever done it. At this school, especially. What was that whole thing Four said the other night—about it being special? Has he really never done it?"

I blush.

"No," I say, "not that I know of. He says he hasn't."

"That's crazy," she gives me a strange look, "I find that so hard to believe."

"Why?"

"Do you even really look at your boyfriend, Tris?" Christina laughs, "Who wouldn't do it with him?"

"Don't get any ideas," I scoff.

"You don't need to worry about me, trust me," she gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "It's just odd."

"How is it odd?" I ask, a little too defensively, "He just didn't find the right person."

"Before you," she rolls her eyes, "The way he looks at you, Tris. You have nothing to worry about." I feel my face get hot, but her words make me feel better. Even Uriah said it's an odd sight to see him as happy as he is—it's nice to be something so special to somebody. "And you can bet, I want to know every detail when it happens."

"You're ridiculous," I sigh, shaking my head.

"Hey, I told you about me and Will," she smirks, "the least you can do is tell me some details."

"Don't hold your breath," I tell her, "I don't think it'll be any time soon."

"You never know," she sings, laughing when I smack her hand away. We meet the others for breakfast, Marlene and Uriah sit side by side while Lynn sits across from them, next to Will. Christina slips into the seat on his other side, and I take the chair next to Uriah, across from Al.

"We were beginning to wonder where you guys were," Will says.

"Christina overslept," I say, earning a glare from my best friend. I realize she didn't come back quickly last night—so I glance over at Will, who hasn't directly looked at me once yet. For a moment, I wonder if Christina's _sixth sense_ comment earlier meant something else.

"So Tris," Uriah speaks up then, "How's training going?"

"Rough," I sigh immediately, "Shauna is a great teacher... but I'm not sure I'm getting the hang of it just yet."

"Last I heard, you were doing just fine."

"Why did you ask me then?" I ask, giving him a curious look. He shrugs.

"I just wanted to know how you felt you were doing. Four is biased, he's too blinded."

"I doubt that," I laugh.

"That he's blinded by you?"

I shake my head, "No, that he's biased. He doesn't seem like he says things to please people." Uriah rolls his eyes.

"Okay, I get where you're coming from. But he's definitely playing some favoritism towards you."

"I'm training again tomorrow if you want to see for yourself," I tell him, "But I'm telling you now, I definitely won't be the best you've ever seen."

"Have some confidence," Uriah says, "you'll only get better if you believe you can. And you can bet I'll be there to watch—I still haven't gotten to teach you myself yet."

I smile. That is one way I hadn't looked at it before—if only every person in the world could have the same mind as him.

 **xXxXx**

Pain surges through my jaw, and my teeth bite down hard—I blink away the tears forming in my eyes and stand back up, disoriented. "You alright?" Shauna asks, grabbing my shoulders to steady me. I can only manage a nod. "You gotta remember to block your face. You've got blocking everywhere else no problem."

"I know," I groan through my teeth. "Let's go again."

"Maybe you should take a break," she suggests, giving me an insistent look. "You can't master anything by straining yourself. It certainly won't improve any quicker that way."

"You sound like Four," I mutter. Shauna grins, mischievously.

"Who do you think I learned from?" I don't expect that answer; Tobias doesn't seem like he'd fight a girl—he shows too much respect towards women for that, from what I've experienced firsthand. He doesn't stick around today when Shauna and I go, but Uriah does. Tobias doesn't seem like a fighter much, unless he's provoked as Uriah said. His silence and observation are his two strongest weapons, I've noticed. Tobias is deft—meant and built for fighting, but rarely ever possesses the motivation to do so. "Surprised?"

"A little bit," I say with a nod.

"It took me weeks to convince him to actually hit me," Shauna smirks, "I couldn't learn properly until he did. He was afraid of hurting me, except now I can actually take a punch."

"He wouldn't hit you—?"

"I just mean, you know... when it came to practice fighting it was what I needed him to do, so I could learn."

"Can it be my turn?" Uriah asks, "You've been going at it for almost forty-five minutes. Let me train her, I have an idea." Shauna rolls her eyes, then nods and steps out of the ring.

"It's never a good thing when you or your brother get ideas," Shauna retorts. Uriah waves her off, and then faces me.

Uriah gives me an observational once-over, "I'm gonna try this: before I throw a punch, or a kick, I'm gonna yell 'block'. It's your responsibility to listen to me, and react—don't think, _react_. I'm gonna go in a pattern first, so you get a feel for it and know where to block. And when I think you've got it down, I'm gonna change it up; you'll have to watch my movements." I nod, and I notice Shauna looks intrigued by his idea now.

For a few minutes, we practice slow. After another couple of tries, we fall into a rhythm; he punches twice, and kicks once. I block each hit successfully, and then he changes it like he said—it's no longer a pattern, now Uriah throws all sorts of hits in, like in a real combat. I'm not as triumphant this time around, but I watch him better and I notice things. Unlike Lynn, he doesn't step before he punches; he throws his whole body into it, like a taut spring. The leg he kicks with, he steps back first to throw more force in.

Shauna's movements were stealth, quick, and powerful. Uriah's are no different here. I have been able to keep up with both of them now, but only for so long.

We go until my muscles ache with exertion, and my skin glistens with sweat. "You did much better today," Shauna praises, clapping me on the shoulder, "more work, more rest, more improvement, more results." She lists it like a mantra.

"Pretty soon you'll be ready to take on anything," Uriah exclaims, "tell Four he better watch out!" I roll my eyes, but I already can't wait to tell him how today went.

 **xXxXx**

I don't see Tobias over the next few days; I focus on school and I know he is keeping himself busy. I decide I should spend some time with my brother—I miss how he would talk my ear off about the latest book, the latest lesson, or the latest everything. I have never found myself overwhelmed in our conversations.

I spot Caleb sitting by himself at one of the tables in the cafeteria, with two books open by his tray. I refrain from rolling my eyes, but allow myself to smile; his love for books, or knowledge in general, is unquenchable. I take the seat across from him, expecting him to glance up; he doesn't. I sigh, trying to gauge a reaction.

Nothing.

Then he says, "you know, sighing is a sign of discontent." I stare at him for a moment, unsure of how to respond. _I know that_. _That's why I sighed in the first place_.

"I'm aware," I finally say, leaning back in the chair, "you kept reading like I wasn't even here."

"When are you ever?" Caleb retorts with a slight smirk.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask him. _I know what it means_ —He shrugs, closing his books.

"You're always sneaking off campus. The only times I see you is when you come up to me." I would think I am being too obvious, if it weren't in his nature to sometimes be obnoxiously over-observant. I frown for a moment.

"I'm not _sneaking_ ," I say defensively. Caleb gives me a skeptical look, and I sigh, "they let us go when classes are over. But you never leave the library, or the labs."

"Mom and dad would expect you to be doing the same." I feel a flash of heat run through me, disappearing as quickly as it came. My eyes narrow at him.

"Don't use them like a weapon against me," I say slowly, "I'm not as academically engrossed as you are. And my grades are fine." _And I doubt they would want us to rot away in the library_... school isn't just for learning.

"I'm not using them as a weapon," he says, staring at me, "I'm just saying that maybe you should be more focused. That's all, Beatrice." I look down, pushing my hair out of my face. When I sat down, I expected a much nicer turn of events than this.

"We're not wired the same, Caleb." I shake my head at him, "I would think you of all people would know that." He nods, but like he's agreeing with my first statement not with my second.

"I do know that," he replies quietly, "but I really think you should."

"Did they say anything about this?" I ask, "when they visited?" He looks reluctant to answer at first, then nods once.

"Dad did." I bite my lip so hard, I feel a pinch.

"What did you tell him?"

Caleb looks down, "not the truth." I feel the all too familiar guilt, chiseling at the back of my mind. I know how much he hates lying—lying in general—but it's worse when it comes to our parents. But there are secrets I've kept from them, for him, as well; we may hate keeping secrets, but sometimes it's the bond that brings Caleb and me closer. Because we stick together. And because despite how much we dislike keeping them out of the loop, we are brother and sister. It's human nature. Caleb sucks in a breath, looking me in the eye, "but if I'm going to keep lying for you, at least for right now, I need to know more than what you've told me. I can't keep making things up—I might slip up, and they will find out."

The back of my neck feels warm. I rub it to ease the tension, and sigh. I know they will; hopefully it'll be me telling them the truth instead of them finding out. I'd rather they be disappointed when I tell them, than disappointed when they find it out from someone else. "What do you need to know?" I ask reluctantly. He contemplates his questions—which scares me. Because I do not know if I will be able to answer them as honestly as he needs me too. I don't know the extent of his curiosity.

"Where did you get those bruises?" He asks, concerned, "I didn't notice them before." I almost laugh at the audacity of it all; the first thing he hasn't noticed about me—but this is not a laughing matter.

"One of my friends," I start, "she's training me. Self-defense stuff." I speak as convincingly as I can, and he seems to believe me. Technically I am not lying. I realize then just how much I have missed him. He is still my brother, still willing to protect me. Even if that means lying a little for me. I feel like we have developed our own lives here, because he is so immersed in school, and I am so immersed elsewhere.

"Where do you go when you leave the campus?"

"It's a place called the Pit," I answer, twisting my fingers together in front of me, "it's... different."

"Doesn't sound like my kind of place," he says, with a small smile. I feel a laugh bubble up in my throat, and nod.

"I didn't think so when Christina first brought me there," I say. But there was a sort of magnetic pull that told me otherwise.

"Who are your friends?" Caleb asks.

"Christina, Will, Al and Lynn. Uriah and Marlene." I say, biting my lip, "and Four. Mom knows about them already."

"Four?" He asks, giving me a quizzical look. I nod, but otherwise do not comment. He continues, "So if I mention any of them, do you think I'll sound more believable?"

"Yes," I nod, "especially if you mention Christina."

"Okay." He looks more at ease, "You have been going to your classes, right?"

"Of course, Caleb," I say quickly, "Just because I hang out with them a lot doesn't mean I skip."

"Okay. Good..." he relaxes more, then asks, "What's Four like? I'm interested to know how he got a number for a name." My throat goes dry for a moment—maybe it is now or never.

"It's just a nickname. But he's a _friend_..." I start, looking anywhere but Caleb's face. I hate that he has always been able to read my mind, whether I am looking at him or not.

"A _friend?_ " He's not accusing, though his tone is questioning. Maybe I'm just afraid he is going to turn all overbearingly protective of me. I know it's only because I am still his little sister. "Like a _boyfriend?_ " That word weighs on my shoulders the moment he says it. I nod. Caleb scowls slightly, looking down at the table, and then at me.

"Are you gonna tell mom and dad?" I have lost track of how often Caleb asks me this; he asks it like we don't keep secrets from them. I recall seeing him sitting with a girl a few weeks ago, I noticed it in passing, but it was a rare sight.

"What about you and that girl who sat with you a few weeks ago?" I ask, trying to change the subject before my face reddens anymore.

"She's just a friend," he says, defensively. He is lying—or at least, he wishes he was, by the disappointment in his voice. Maybe I shouldn't have brought her up—did she reject him?

"And mom knows about him," I add quietly, "I already told her. While you and dad walked around the campus that day." I see his expression soften some.

"But dad doesn't," he figures. I shake my head, "Why didn't you tell me at least?"

"Because you would have probably scolded me," I mutter, "and you'd probably want to meet him so you could play big brother." I know that I am a little out of line with the accusation, but I knew how this would play out when I finally told him. Caleb is very protective, sometimes a little too much. He frowns.

"Well, I do want to meet him," he says firmly. I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginning of a headache starting. "Do you have any classes with him?" I'm starting to believe telling him I have a boyfriend wasn't the hardest part—telling him said boyfriend no longer goes to this school, is.

"Er...no," I say, tightening my grip on the chair. For a moment, I think that the plastic bends in my hands but it goes back into place when I release it. "He... _doesn't_...he's no longer a student here." His suspicious stare becomes one of surprise.

"What does that mean—?"

"—he's nineteen, Caleb," I answer quickly, "he finished school. I promise, he's not a drop-out, or some super _older_ guy..."

" _Beatrice_ —,"

"—Caleb, please," I beg desperately. Caleb makes a discontented sound, between a groan of irritation and a sigh. "Don't make such a big deal..."

"What has gotten into you?" He asks, looking tired. "Does mom know how old he is?"

"Yes," I say, "I wasn't not going to tell her that. Honestly, Caleb... I am going to be eighteen pretty soon, just like you. As of right now, it's only a two year difference—and..." I feel my face get hot, and I dig the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. I don't finish that thought. I have lost track of how many times, and how many people, I have had this unnecessary conversation with. I do not want my brother mixed in with the statistic.

Caleb looks at the table uncomfortably, then sighs, "... _fine_. But I still want to meet him." I nod, reluctantly. At least I can do that.

"How did you do on your exams?" _That's it?_ I breathe a silent sigh of relief. Maybe because I had told him mom already knows, he thinks he won't need to know much else.

"I passed," I say simply. I did, but I don't really remember. I know Caleb passed with all A's.

"That's it?" He asks with a chuckle. I shrug.

"Do you really want to talk about school?" I ask. Then I realize, _of course he does... when does he not?_

"I guess not," he agrees. Caleb sighs, "I feel like we never see each other—I don't really know what to talk about with you."

"Well you're always here," I say. "I wouldn't want to take you away from school work."

"I have friends too, you know," he says, rolling his eyes, "they just happen to prefer hanging out around books rather than whatever it is your friends are into." I know he means well, and I don't question his interests, but I can't help wondering how anybody could find studying for hours as anything fun.

"I've never met any of them," I say.

"I've never met any of yours, either," he retorts. He changes the subject then, "Mom and dad called the other night."

"Fair enough." I almost want to tell him more about Tobias, but he is not Christina. I feel like he won't get it—sometimes I feel like Caleb is too invested in books to notice girls, and he just wouldn't understand my relationship. "What did you, mom, and dad talk about? When they called?"

"They were just checking up on us," Caleb says, "Mom misses us a lot, I think she said that three or four times. Dad wanted to know how school was going. I had to tell him I didn't really know about you, but Ms. Matthews reassured him you were doing just fine."

"That was nice of her," I say.

"Were you out with them the other night, at that place you always go, when she was looking for you?" Caleb asks, then.

"The pit," I answer, "and yes, I think so. You didn't tell her about it, right?" I know Caleb would only be trying to help if he did mention it, but most of us are underage and I know my parents wouldn't like to hear that I was going to such a place. My mother told me she trusted me, and I want her to. Caleb shakes his head.

"I figured you didn't want me snitching on you," he says sheepishly, "I haven't told mom or dad about your tattoo, either. Are you ever going to tell them about that?" I know it peaks just out of the top of my shirt; he eyes it, wearily for a moment.

"Uh, maybe," I reply carefully. I am grateful he hasn't blurted about that, though. "Thank you. I'd rather they hear about it from me."

"I know, Beatrice," he nods. We sit in silence for a moment, Caleb looks over his books again. I know if I want to introduce Caleb to my friends, I should give him the opportunity to introduce me to his, too.

Briefly, I wonder how I will get Caleb and Tobias in the same place at the same time. I doubt I could drag Caleb to the Pit with us. I don't know if I could bring Tobias here, though. I may have to figure that out with him.

"So," I start, "when do I get to meet your friends?"

 **xXxXx**

The first fighter of the night is out already. She tries to push herself back up, but Peter steps on the small of her back, hard, and keeps her down. Blood seeps into her white shirt, and drips down her lips, and chin. Eric has her dragged out before she can stand back up. Peter stands, victorious, with his ego inflated and his bravado as arrogant as ever.

He has yet to lose these last few fights—he took Lynn out a few days ago; she now scowls, and sulks all day long, planning her revenge against him. I can't imagine how she's feeling.

"I liked him better when he could barely walk straight," Uriah says, shaking his head, "he's back to his old self now."

"Just what we needed," I mutter sarcastically.

"I'd love to see him get his ass kicked again," he replies, "for Lynn." I nod. Eric picks a scrawny looking boy as Peter's next opponent; he's picking them deliberately, to keep Peter in the number one spot. But Lynn is not weak—Peter was just a better opponent this time.

Peter is ruthless on this poor boy—I think his name is Drew. He attempts to get hits in, left and right, though I'm quite impressed; he's managed to stay up, and alert for well over ten minutes. But Peter gets the final uppercut to the underside of his jaw, and he's down. His head hits the ground, hard, and he winces before his eyes close and his body slumps.

If I didn't know any better, I would assume he was dead.

But he groans in pain when he's picked up and carried from the ring. Eric looks over the crowd, weighing his options. Lynn is staring back, and I know she wants Eric to pick her.

He doesn't even look at her. Eric looks between me and Uriah—I know he would pick me, because of what happened with Four, but I'm not entirely sure why he'd pick Uriah.

He and Peter share a brief glance, all too knowing, and then Eric looks right back to me.

My body goes cold. Eric points to me, and the boisterous cheers and howls erupt all around me. But they're drowned out, like we're in a tunnel, by the loud rush of adrenaline in my bloodstream, echoing in my ears.

I don't want to fight Peter. Anyone but Peter. I'll even fight Lynn, and give her spot back. I'll even fight Molly. _Anyone_ but Peter!

Uriah stands in front of me, like a wall of protection, but then Peter gives me a scornful look and I know he thinks I'm a coward. But then I think of how I see him, and he's the real coward. I think of Lynn, and how self-resentful she is that she lost to him. I don't have to fight Peter, but I will.

I shake my hands out, the nerves rolling like waves through me. I don't think about if I lose; I don't think I'll win, either. But I can at least try to.

My muscles are no longer rigid, I find the will in myself to move forward. We stand beneath the light that illuminates our stage, and position myself. Hopefully Shauna and Uriah's training have done me well—this is not solely a test of strength; strength is a perk. This is a test of skill, and reactivity. I have to watch him, and I have to look for my way in.

"Aw. You look like you're about to cry, Stiff," Peter taunts, "I might go easier on you if you cry." _Fat chance_. I bite my tongue; if I respond, it'll only egg him on.

He almost catches me, unprepared. His first punch hits my shoulder, right on a sore muscle and the groan is out before I can hide it. Peter smirks, an ugly, evil grin, and the next hit is directed toward my face; I don't block him in time, and his knuckles connect with my jaw.

 _Focus_. Tears blur my vision, and I blink them away as quickly as I can. I see Peter's outline pull back again, and this time I do block just in time to avoid another hit to the face. Where his fist connected with my arm, the skin stings.

He sends another uppercut directly after. I block it, though just barely. His knuckles graze my cheekbone, but I still feel pain. Peter lets out a frustrated growl, and I know it's because I'm still standing. His knee jerks up, hitting the bend in my waist. It sends a stab of agony through my body, and I'm thrown sideways, almost off my feet.

I can't breathe. I lost all air from that hit, and I struggle to regain it. I swing forward, but my fist hits air and then his fingers wrap around my wrist, roughly. I want to recoil the moment he touches me, disgusted by his calloused, unkind hands. Peter's grip on my arm gives him all the power he needs, and he yanks me forward. I am falling, and a sharp pain shoots through my shoulder.

I am losing.

I want to give up. I can't beat Peter—it might not be impossible, but right now it surely feels like it. I don't want to get back up, I want this fight to end.

I stay down.

And that is my mistake. Because Peter throws a kick to the side of my head and blackness eats away at the corners of my vision. My head throbs, it feels heavy. I see Peter pull back once more, and another kick connects with my head. This time, he's kicked my nose. I feel warmth trickle down my face, and then I taste blood.

Blackness consumes me, and I don't try to stay awake.

 **xxxxx**

I don't know how long I've been out for, or what Peter may have done after I blacked out. I don't think I want to know. I only remember, vaguely, being dragged out of the ring. My body feels heavy, and limp; I cannot move. There is a large ice pack at my side, by my ribs where I was kicked, and a coldness seeps into the side of my head and jaw.

Pain rushes through my body as I try to sit up, but I am stopped by two large, gentle hands. _Uh oh..._ I turn my head to see Tobias sitting beside me, with a deep scowl on his face.

My heart leaps in my throat—I don't think I want to know what he's thinking.

His eyes look angry, but I can't tell if it's directed towards me, or the current status of my situation. The silence is deafening. I turn away from him, and look up at the ceiling. My teeth bite down on my lip, and I wince at the sting; a small whimper escapes my throat.

"How long have I been out?" I ask. My voice is scratchy, and hoarse; my throat is dry.

"A few hours," he answers, not looking at me. Maybe he is mad at me. His thumb strokes my cheekbone, idly. I wince, and he drops his hand immediately. "Eric has a lot of nerve..."

"That had nothing to do with you fighti—,"

"—It didn't?" Tobias asks, terse. I don't want to think their fight caused this, but I know that's exactly what Tobias is thinking. Eric wants to hurt him, I know that. And the strongest way to hurt Tobias is to hurt him emotionally. One way is getting to me.

"I think he and Peter had this planned beforehand," I reply, keeping my voice low.

"What makes you say that?"

"Peter hates me. Maybe there was no reason other than to hurt us." It hurts to shrug, and when I do I regret it. I realize I must sound ridiculous—Peter may need no reason, but Eric seems like he has his reasons.

"Why didn't you just stay back?" He asks, shaking his head slowly, "you wouldn't be here right now. You wouldn't be in pain...you wouldn't have bruises, or cuts."

"Well, I do," I say, more firmly than I mean to, "and it's over with. I could have chosen to be a coward, or to be a fighter."

"Sometimes there's more bravery in walking away, Tris," Tobias argues, staring at me so intently my stomach twists under his gaze. His thumb brushes across my lip, over the split. His touch stings the wound, despite how gentle he tries to be, and I realize he's right.

I sigh, "you're right." He stares at me, blankly, for a few seconds, but then the corners of his lips twitch.

"You're actually agreeing with me?"

"I don't have the energy to argue with you anymore tonight," I answer, defeated. Tobias nods once, and we sit in silence; his fingers brush my hair away from my face, and their coolness soothes my headache. He presses his lips to my temple, softly, and he sighs against my skin.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, "I shouldn't be angry with you. This wasn't your fault."

"I tried to remember everything Shauna and Uriah taught me..." I say, stifling a sob caught in my throat. I will not cry. "But Peter was too fast."

"Just rest, Tris," Tobias says.

"Can we go back to your apartment, please?" I ask, "I don't want to stay here all night." I don't want Peter, or Eric to find me. I don't think Eric would do anything, but I know Peter would.

"Can you stand up?"

I try, but the blood rushes in my ears and I feel dizzy. Before I can respond, Tobias lifts me into his arms easily, and carries me back to his place. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

 **xXxXx**

When I observe the damage Peter has done, the next morning, I barely recognize myself. There is a large, blueish, purple bruise that runs from the top of my cheekbone, down to my jawline. The split in my lip looks bigger than it feels.

My face is swollen, around my nose where he kicked me. There's a bump on the back of my head from the first kick.

Tobias stands behind me, in the doorway of the bathroom, frowning. Our eyes meet in the mirror for a moment, before I look away. "It's not that bad," I say.

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" He asks. I don't know. I sigh, and return the ice pack to my face. The cold burns my skin, but it numbs it enough that I can barely feel it after a few seconds. I turn towards him, meeting his eyes.

"Myself, probably," I answer flatly. "It looks bad, doesn't it?"

Tobias shrugs, and brings his hand up to touch my face, careful to avoid the bruise. "Well, I've seen _worse_... but it's pretty bad. You're lucky he didn't break your nose..." I nod, but the motion hurts my head. "I don't like seeing you hurt. Nobody should ever touch you like that," his voice is low, and he speaks slowly.

"It'll heal," I say quietly.

"And when it does, do you plan on fighting Peter again?" The edge in his voice is unwavering. "Do you plan on showing him that he can do this again?"

"I'm not a child," I tell him. "Don't scold me like I am one—!"

He speaks, evenly, "—Do you remember what I told you, after the incident with Eric? About my mother?"

I swallow my anger, "Of course I do."

"I watched my mother get hurt, at the hands of my own father, Tris. I've seen my mother bleed, almost to the point where I didn't think it'd ever stop. My father was supposed to love my mother, not abuse her. I saw the same compulsion in Peter's expression, hitting you, that my father had every time he beat my mother, or even me. My father was supposed to be a man, not a monster—he's a coward, just like Peter. I know you can handle yourself, and I'm glad you had some knowledge on fighting... but when I told you last night there's more bravery in walking away, I wasn't trying to tell you what you should have done differently. I was trying to tell you that you don't have to be fighter, even if you're provoked. I know Peter is an awful person... I know I fought Eric because he provoked me—that was my mistake, and look where it got us now. I just didn't want to see you get hurt. You can be strong and brave in different ways..."

My heart throbs, painfully, in my chest. It should have been obvious—he cares about me, like he cared about his mother. And here, I nearly accused him of having no reason for his anger because I am too prideful to admit my vulnerabilities.

My teeth dig into my lip, "I'm sorry," I say. "I hadn't thought about that." Tobias nods, but not in a condescending way. We stand quietly for a few moments, before Tobias speaks up.

"The thing I hate the most, is this feeling like I expect everybody to understand it," He says sadly. In a way, I understand why he feels like that. We come from different worlds; I was raised by two parents, who set good examples. He was raised by two parents, and then one, who did not. It was his normal growing up—he expects everyone to see the bad in people as easily as he does. I can't imagine that war inside his head.

"I won't fight Peter again," I tell him. I won't risk hurting him, or myself, like this again.

"I can't stop you if you do."

"But I won't," I shake my head, "I promise."

 **xXxXx**

 _Tobias Eaton's POV_

"She's tough as nails," Shauna says, walking into the control room with sweat lining her forehead, "I swear, she just wants to keep practicing. I finally got her to take a break."

"First thing you'll ever learn about her..." I smirk, handing the control panel to Zeke. He looks like a child on Christmas, and instantly begins flipping through footage. "How'd you get her to stop?"

"Uriah finally tired her out," she answers, shaking her head, "He went easy on her, but she took enough hits from me today—I told her she was gonna strain herself if we kept going," Shauna smirks then, and says, "she told me I sounded just like you, Four." I raise an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"I told her she should take a break, and that there was no way she would master anything by straining herself. That she wouldn't improve any quicker, and she said I sounded just like you." Zeke bursts out laughing behind me, and manages to duck when I swing my arm back at him.

"You basically told her what I told you three years ago," I say. Shauna nods, smirking.

"I told her that, too."

"What else, about me, did you tell her?" I ask.

"That's all," she replies, but she says it too casually and I find it hard to believe her. I feel like she told Tris more than she is letting on—I should pry the answers out of her, but she will know exactly what I'm doing. I know Shauna, and she would be giving away more, indirectly, if she had told Tris something she didn't need to know. I decide I'll let it go, for just this once.

"You do know that all of this training her is a little pointless, right?" I ask after a moment, "she's not going to be fighting anybody."

"Look, Four—I get it, you have some weird no-violence policy..." _ironic_ , considering what recently occurred with Eric, though I understand what she is saying, "but I think that's up to Tris to decide if she wants to fight somebody or not. I know you don't want to see her get hurt, but this chivalrous attitude of yours can be kind of insulting sometimes." I know she means well; Shauna has always been straightforward with me, but I can't help feeling a bit bruised.

Her point behind it, however—it makes me suspect that Tris wants to fight—that's what is bothering me.

I sigh, "I'm not saying that she's not capable of taking somebody on. I know she is... but—," _you don't get it_ , I want to tell her. Shauna sees this as me saying I don't think girls can fight. I know girls can—I've seen it plenty of times—but Tris is too good; people don't fight fair here, they fight dirty and they fight mercilessly. "I am all for her learning this as a way of protecting herself," I say, slowly, "but I will not put up with watching her go into fights, and getting hurt as some form of an adrenaline rush. You know how Eric picks these fights; I don't want Tris getting her head kicked in, or her teeth knocked out." Shauna doesn't comment after that and I know I've made myself clear.

 **xXxXx**

That night, I jog down to the pier to clear my mind. Breathing in the cold air feels like a new breath every time.

I can see my breath, coming out in large puffs in front of my face beneath the lights. I stop when I reach the end, allowing myself to catch my breath. My hands are frozen and numb, and shoving them into my pockets for warmth is not working.

The cold doesn't bother me much, but my hands are already rough enough. Though despite the wind, it's actually not the coldest it could be. November nights are usually always my favorite, because sometimes they are just the right amount of cold—other times, they're merely just chilly.

The conversation with Shauna is still fresh in my mind. I am worried that Tris plans to fight, and that I won't be there to talk her out of it, or at least try to. I don't want to stop her, if it's something she wants to do, but I also refuse to see her get hurt. I can't promise that I won't try to stop her.

I am also afraid that if I confront her with my suspicions, that she won't be straightforward with me. But I don't doubt Tris, or think that she is not trustworthy—I just want my thoughts to be proven wrong.

 **xxxxx**

"You're supposed to be in controls," Tori says to me as I stroll into the tattoo parlor the next afternoon. I give her a winning smile and she rolls her eyes, "what?"

I shrug, "there's nothing to do there right now—and besides, Zeke's got it covered."

"It's not supposed to be fun, it's supposed to keep you and Eric from killing each other," she replies, shaking her head.

"Eric hardly checks," I say, "I can't stay here for a few?" Tori gives me a stern look, though I know she's only faking it; she doesn't mind me. "Where is he anyway?" I ask.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't. But I don't want to run into him on the way back," Tori looks unconvinced, but she pulls an old needle off the gun in her hand and replaces it with a new one before answering me.

She shrugs, and says, "he's most likely around the main area. If not, then he's probably out looking for fighters for tonight."

"He's got fights going tonight?" Tori nods, with an expression that says it should be obvious. I might be able to lead Tris away—if Tori will let me off controls for the rest of the day. I haven't seen her in the last couple of days, so I don't know how she's been with Shauna since last time. _It's worth a shot_ , "mind if we skip out on watch later?"

"Why?" _So I can distract Tris, that's why_. Zeke can do whatever he wants. But I don't say that.

"Tori, I promise we will stay in controls for the rest of the day and for the rest of the week if you can just give us tonight off?" I plead. She stares at me, blankly, for a few moments, before sighing loudly.

"Fine," she answers, "but on one condition: you stay as far away from Eric as possible. I am not cleaning up his blood again."

"You're the best," I call out, grinning, before I leave the tattoo parlor. I don't catch what she mutters, I am too busy thinking of a way to keep Tris away from the fights tonight.

When I get back to the control room, my thoughts are solid. Tris will stay with me, and nowhere near the fights. I see the top of Zeke's head just above one of the monitors. He asks, "where did you go?"

"I got us the night off," I say, sitting down in the chair across from him.

"Really?" His expression lights up, and the screens are forgotten, "what's the catch?"

"We finish working in here today, and for the rest of the week." I answer, pulling a camera screen up. I hear him sigh.

"So basically, after tonight, it's right back to the same old same old." I nod. He sits up, cracking his knuckles, and asks, "Why did you ask for tonight off, exactly?"

"Eric's got fights going tonight, and I want to get Tris away from them," I mutter.

"You think she's gonna want to fight?"

I shrug, sighing, "I don't know. But she's training with Shauna again today, and part of me thinks she might want to. I don't know who Eric's picked to fight, but if it's that boy, Peter again, I think she'll try to."

"Can't you just talk her out of it?"

"Believe me, I've tried to talk her out of just training," I scowl. I pull the footage up from the training room, just in time to watch Tris get Shauna's knee in her ribs. I feel a slight headache starting behind my eyes. She is improving, at least, but she is still weak. "But she can be stubborn."

"Well, maybe your instincts are wrong," Zeke shrugs, "maybe you're getting paranoid for no reason." It's not an unreasonable conclusion, but it's not likely either. I am not usually paranoid for no reason. "You heard what Shauna said the other day—she's teaching her how to protect herself, not fight somebody."

"I know," I say wearily.

"Relax man, you'll be down there tonight and if Eric tries to pull anything, we'll stop it."

"I hope so."

 **xXxXx**

Zeke and I join a few of his friends by the chasm; most of them have already been drinking for a little while now. I pass up the drink they hand me, and I glance around the pit, looking for Tris. My nerves are running high tonight—I know Eric has already seen me down here, and he's not happy about it.

I catch his glares every couple of minutes or so.

"You look wound up," Tori says, coming up beside me. I shrug.

"Do I?"

"Yes," she says, blunt. "Is it because of Eric?"

"Something like that," I tell her. I don't want to tell her my reason for being down here—I'll let her think it's because of Eric. I don't plan on fighting him tonight, but if he hurts Tris, I break my promise to Tori. _Oh well_...

"Are you looking for Tris?" She asks me, as if reading my mind. I nod. "She and Uriah were up front somewhere." _Of course they were_ —

"—Get him out of here!" Eric orders his lackeys, scanning the crowds for a new opponent. I was right about one thing, Peter is his champion tonight. I start frantically following Eric's eyes, but I don't see Tris anywhere. She is too short, and I am behind the crowd.

"Where up front?" I ask Tori then. Tori shrugs. But it's too late—I see a blonde head standing in the ring, across from Peter. He looks at her like a wild animal, about to kill its prey. This is not good. I push through people quickly, ignoring their protests and shoves.

He says something to her, but I am too far away to hear over the noise. She looks calm on the surface, but I notice her hands shake. Peter throws the first punch, hitting her shoulder. Tris doesn't see his next move, and Peter's fist connects with her jaw.

Her eyes well up with tears, I can see them glow under the light above them. Peter hits her again, in the same place. She struggles to block the next uppercut, but manages to stop him before his hands connects. Peter throws a knee into her side.

Tris staggers back a few feet, I am almost close enough to grab her. If I could just get through one more row—

She swings at him, missing by an inch, but Peter is too fast. He grabs her wrist, and pulls her toward him, sending her crashing into the mat.

Tris doesn't get back up—she doesn't even try to stand. I yell for her to move, to get out of his way, but she can't hear me. Peter kicks the side of her head, and all I feel is rage and revenge. I want to hurt Peter, bad—I could kill him.

Again, another kick. But this time, Peter kicks her nose and blood trickles down her skin like marble. Her eyes close, and I find myself running towards Peter now. I only see her blood, and then Peter's face.

I stand between them, giving Peter a murderous stare. He cowers back a step, and I pick Tris up in my arms. I don't care about the people watching, the people booing me for stepping in. I don't care about Eric, or Peter... I don't care about Tori's one condition.

If given the chances, I would kill them both.

Zeke follows me out of the ring, and I look down at Tris. There is so much blood on her face, I don't know where she is hurt more. Her nose could be broken—she could have a concussion. She will be black and blue tomorrow, that much I am sure about.

She is breathing, at least.

I don't realize that I am being trailed, until Tori brings a cart full of medical supplies over to me as I lay Tris down on one of the cots. "I'll kill him," I spit out, feeling the anger boil up inside me again.

"You are gonna focus on her right now," Tori says firmly, giving me a hard look. "You are not going after him." I want to contradict her; tell her that once I am finished cleaning Tris up, that I am going back out there but the venom coursing through my veins will only cause me to yell at her right now. I bite my tongue, and pull a wet rag out of the bowl on the tray.

"I will deal with Eric," she says stern. "I told you, I don't want any more fights between you two. Eric will lose—take care of her." I hear Tori's footsteps get quieter and quieter, until I am sure it is only me and Tris in here now.

I focus on her, feeling myself calm down a little so that I can be as gentle as possible. I start on the blood that's beginning to dry on her chest, and neck. It washes away, clinging to the rag, although it still stains her skin.

I have to hold her head still, to clean her jaw and her nose. I am careful, not holding too tightly in case she has any breaks. The blood masked most of the bruises forming on her face; they've already started swelling.

Her breaths are still slow; they are warm, ghosting across the backs of my hands. Even in her comatose state, she lets out a weak, gurgling cough and it sounds painful, like it's choking her. Her skin is pale, paler than usual; she almost looks transparent. My fingers automatically smooth her hair back, and I try to get most of the blood out of the ends.

I know I won't be able to clean the blood out of her shirt, now that it's seeped into the fabric. It'll be a miracle if she can later on. I work on her hands next; they are not split open, she never got a strong enough hit in, but they are caked in blood from when she clutched at her jaw. It's hard to get the blood out from between the crevices and creases of her palms, but I get the majority of it out at least.

Peter's vicious grip left red marks around her wrist; the skin bubbles, like she was scratched and I imagine maybe she was. I remember that he kneed her ribs, so as carefully as I can, I move her arm aside and lift the bottom of her shirt to see the harm done. Her ribs jut out with each breath, and four or five of them already begin to discolor. I put her shirt back down.

I grab the ice packs from the cooler on the bottom of the cart and place one against her side, and another beneath her chin, with a towel to keep her skin from getting too cold. The last ice pack I place on the pillow beside her head, and turn her head carefully toward it.

My fingers find the smooth skin of her wrist and I can feel the pulse, a little stronger, there and I see the rise and fall of her chest more prominent now. I toss all of the stained rags back into the bowl, now full of pink water, and sit down beside the cot. Now she looks like she could be sleeping, but the blueish-purple tint forming along her jaw is beginning to show.

I see a split by her eye, already beginning to scab over. Most of the blood came from hits to her mouth, and her nose. I feel anger course through me again, and I stand up, giving Tris a final once-over.

Her blood has already set in the fabric of my shirt, and I feel nauseas for a minute, before I swallow back bile and stalk out of the infirmary. I will come back for her, but for now she is safe. I know where I am going, and I have figured out what I am going to say.

Another fight—two new opponents this time—is starting. I see Eric, and then I see red. When he spots me, storming over to him the corners of his lips turn up in a remorseless smirk.

"What the hell are you playing at?" I demand, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. He stares me down, prying at my hand to break free. He's lucky my fingers aren't around his throat right now. I am screaming at him in the next moment, "What the fuck is wrong with you? Pitting defenseless people up against some ruthless asshole?"

Eric flashes an ugly, wicked grin and says, "She wasn't backing down. You could have stopped her... but then you would have looked like dear old dad. Just as demanding... just as controlling. You wouldn't want that, would you, Tobias?" His voice is low, menacing. He knows where to hit me; the weakest parts of me, and unfortunately they are in his knowledge.

The main fight is forgotten, all eyes are on us now.

I won't fight him, because that's what he wants. For someone who actually has a brain, he doesn't use it very often. I would beat him again—that's been the outcome for as long as I can remember. He just wants a reaction; I have given him enough just from confronting him now. I want to beat him senseless, but I withhold.

I release his shirt, roughly, knocking him back a few steps. He gives me a dirty look, between a glare and what looks like he's murdered me inside his head a dozen ways.

"Watch yourself," he spits through clenched teeth. I feel a tug on my arm, and I turn to see Tori glaring at the both of us. I know she's more pissed off with me than Eric, but I honestly don't care. Eric needs to learn to keep himself in line—if we were in a different setting, different situation, with different consequences, he would have been shot by now for insubordination.

And I think I would gladly do the honors.

"I am not gonna tell you again, Four," Tori hisses; her grip on my arm hurts, and it's enough to clear my head for a moment, "leave it alone. You're only adding to his fire." I refuse to show submission, because Eric hasn't looked away yet either. But he fixes the collar of his shirt and turns away from me.

"I'm sorry, Tori..." I tell her, shaking my hands out.

"Walk away, Four," she says quietly, "stay away from here for the rest of the night. Make sure Tris is okay. That's what's important to you, not getting even with Eric." I know she is right, so I don't argue with her.

 **xXxXx**

It is just past midnight when Tris stirs awake. She tries to sit up, but right now she just needs to rest. I keep my grip as light as possible, and keep her down on the cot.

Her lip trembles, and she looks up at the ceiling, as if she's willing her tears to go away. Maybe she is.

"How long have I been out?" She asks, her voice manages a whisper.

"A few hours," I say, staring absentmindedly at the blanket covering half her body. I am still angry, and thinking of ways to hurt Eric. But I come up empty—I don't really want to hurt him, for my sake. Tris flinches under my touch, _I must have hurt her_ , and it breaks me from my haze. I drop my hand immediately.

"Eric has a lot of nerve..."

"That had nothing to do with you fighti—,"

"—It didn't?" I snap, and I instantly regret it when I see the look on her face. She looks like she might yell, or cry.

"I think he and Peter had this planned beforehand," she finally says, keeping her voice low. I don't like when she talks to me like this—like she's scolding me somehow. But I deserve it for snapping at her, the last thing she needs is my anger.

"What makes you say that?" I ask.

"Peter hates me. Maybe there was no reason other than to hurt us." She shrugs, and then whimpers.

"Why didn't you just stay back?" I shake my head, and I realize I sound like _I'm_ scolding _her_ now, "you wouldn't be here right now. You wouldn't be in pain...you wouldn't have bruises, or cuts."

"Well, I do," she retorts, "and it's over with. I could have chosen to be a coward, or to be a fighter."

"Sometimes there's more bravery in walking away, Tris," I argue, looking her over now that she is awake. I can find out where else she is hurt, by the way her face contorts when she moves too fast. I brush my thumb along the cut on her lip. It is swollen, but I try to focus on her breaths fanning across my skin rather than the blood rushing to her bruises.

Tris sighs, "you're right." I almost laugh, but now is not the time. I clear my throat.

"You're actually agreeing with me?"

"I don't have the energy to argue with you anymore tonight," She says, shaking her head. I can be an asshole, especially at the wrong times. I shouldn't be making a joke while there are still things we need to discuss. She doesn't talk to me, and I feel anxious as the silence grows longer. I brush her hair to the side to keep my hands from shaking, and I kiss her forehead, lingering there for a few moments.

"I'm sorry," I say lightly, "I shouldn't be angry with you. This wasn't your fault..."

"I tried to remember everything Shauna and Uriah taught me..." Her voice breaks, but she holds back her tears. I wish she would cry, instead of holding it all in. She doesn't always need to be so strong, or put together, in front of me. I think it's a little late for that right now, and I wouldn't expect her to be. She continues, "But Peter was too fast."

"Just rest, Tris," I insist, giving her hand a light squeeze. I don't want to leave her here alone, but I don't want to walk her back to the school in this condition either. I would stay by her side all night if that's what she wanted. She voices the idea before I do...

"Can we go back to your apartment, please?" Tris asks, glancing around the infirmary. She looks scared for half of a second, and I wonder if she's afraid of Eric, or Peter, finding her. "I don't want to stay here all night."

"Can you stand up?" I ask her. She tries to lift herself up, but her arms barely help and she stumbles back. I pick her up easily, her legs drape over my arm while my other arm supports her neck. I carry her back to my place, and I lay her down carefully.

She is already asleep before I lay down beside her. I don't sleep right away. My head is too loud, and as I watch her, my thoughts grow louder.

To say I never thought tonight would happen would be a lie. I knew eventually it might, but I was hoping to do everything I could to prevent this. Her skin was beautiful and smooth, and to me it still is—but right now, all I see it as purple and blue and bumps across her face. Peter is a monster.

I am just glad that now she is sleeping, and no longer beaten unconscious.

I am more relieved that nothing seems to be broken, and that once her bruises are gone, she will look normal again. She will look like the Tris I love.

I can admit that now, to myself, in the safety of my apartment. I do love her, and I assume that that is why I would be willing to do anything to keep her safe. Even if I have a few selfish reasons behind it—I want to protect her. I won't let Peter, or Eric, do this again.

 **xxxxx**

I stir awake when the mattress shifts and I see Tris struggle to stand. She picks up one of the ice packs as she rises and holds her side, her fingers curl around her waist to stop the pain and she walks around the bed. I throw the blanket off my body to get up, and she sighs, "you don't need to follow me..."

 _But I will_ , I think to myself. But I press my lips together and stay quiet. She's still upset; as well am I, so I'm not really worried that she's being cold with me. I follow her into the bathroom, which if given any other situation, this would be a bit odd. I lean against the frame, watching her for a moment.

Tris stands with her body pressed against the counter, and stares into the mirror. Her fingers ghost over the bruises, and her eyes glass over for a moment. The bruises now cover most of her face, from just below her eye down to the bottom of her chin. The skin is swollen around her nose and along her jawline. She touches the back of her head; I didn't realize there was anything wrong there.

She catches my eyes in the mirror, and her scowl matches mine. She drops her gaze down to the sink and mutters, "it's not that bad."

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?" I ask. Tris sighs, and holds the ice pack—that's probably only cool now—to her face. She faces me, meeting my eyes.

"Myself, probably," she answers, bitterly, "It looks bad, doesn't it?"

I shrug and step towards her, bringing my hand up to touch her face. I remember to avoid any bruises or bumps, "Well, I've seen worse... but it's pretty bad. You're lucky he didn't break your nose..." I say softly. She nods weakly, and I close my eyes for a moment, "I don't like seeing you hurt. Nobody should ever touch you like that."

"It'll heal," she mumbles.

"And when it does, do you plan on fighting Peter again?" I ask, harsher than I mean to. "Do you plan on showing him that he can do this again?"

"I'm not a child," Tris rolls her eyes, and for a split second I feel a flare of irritation. "Don't scold me like I am one—!"

I suppress the urge to argue, "—Do you remember what I told you, after the incident with Eric? About my mother?"

She falters, "Of course I do." I suck in a deep breath, and I decide I have nothing left to lose. I can tell her anything.

"I watched my mother get hurt, at the hands of my own father, Tris. I've seen my mother bleed, almost to the point where I didn't think it'd ever stop. My father was supposed to love my mother, not abuse her. I saw the same compulsion in Peter's expression, hitting you, that my father had every time he beat my mother, or even me. My father was supposed to be a man, not a monster—he's a coward, just like Peter. I know you can handle yourself, and I'm glad you had some knowledge on fighting... but when I told you last night there's more bravery in walking away, I wasn't trying to tell you what you should have done differently. I was trying to tell you that you don't have to be fighter, even if you're provoked. I know Peter is an awful person... I know I fought Eric because he provoked me—that was my mistake, and look where it got us now. I just didn't want to see you get hurt. You can be strong and brave in different ways..." _safer_ ways.

She bites her lip, "I'm sorry... I hadn't thought about that." I nod, but I wouldn't expect her to think the same way I do. Sometimes it's easy to forget, not everyone grew up the same way I did. Especially Tris—she is wholesome, and too good to have ever experienced anything my childhood exposed me to.

"The thing I hate the most, is this feeling like I expect everybody to understand it," I tell her, trying to keep the anger from my voice—I am tired of being angry all the time.

"I won't fight Peter again," Tris says.

"I can't stop you if you do," I shake my head. Shauna was right, if she wanted to fight I wouldn't be able to stop her. Even if she wanted to now, I couldn't tell her not to. I could only hope that she wouldn't, for me.

"But I won't," she says firmly, "I promise."


End file.
